Arthur, King of the Britons
by Sheila51
Summary: Set during the movie. Lancelot finds a third captive with Guinevere and Lucan. How will the Lady Igraine change the course of events, and what does she have to do with Arthur's past? COMPLETE! Alternate endings are up.
1. The Lady Igraine

**Arthur, King of the Britons.**

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A/N: Saw King Arthur yesterday, loved it, adored it but I felt there was so much more that could have been said about the knights, and more development could be made in general. So here is my humble offering. Please enjoy, and even if you don't please review... Will give prizes to reviewers ;) _

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_Chapter I: The Lady Igraine

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Igraine let her head loll back, her shaking legs she forced to hold her weight upon the tiny ledge high above the room. Every breath caused her pain, a pain that began in her feet and ended in her arms manacled above her head. She shivered as a wind blew across her. The shivering made her body ache all the more. She knew the wall was just scant inches from her back. She als knew that the spikes on the wall were sharp enough to hurt her more than she cared for in her weakened state.

Shouts and cries came to her ears as though from far away. She felt the pain in her chest that warned she was going to cough. She suppressed it. She had no energy left to cough with, all she ad was concentrated on not falling, for if she did she knew she would never find the strength to find the ledge again.

More cries came, she heard the sound of smashing chains.

"They're all dead." Said a voice in Latin.

"By the smell they are all dead." Replied another, his voice seemed disgusted. She heard them, and yet their words made little sense. She let another breath out; the pain ran through her.

"Check them anyway." Said another voice; this one held that strange tone of command about it, as though the speaker was used to having his words obeyed. "We cannot abandon them to this despicable treatment." He added solemnly. She frowned, she knew that voice.

She listened as more chambers were opened. She heard them freeing those inside the cells they had opened. She heard a small noise. They were leaving she knew. She forced her head up, she had too see she told herself if what she thought was true, she had too... The movement cost her though; her feet fell out from underneath her.

They slipped from the small shelf of rock, leaving her dangling from her wrists. A small cry escaped her lips as her shoulders were cruelly jerked and for a moment she touched the spikes before swinging free and back again, she felt as though from a distance as the cuts upon her wrists reopened and wept blood onto her forearms.

Lancelot paused in the doorway. "Did you hear that?" he asked Gawain. The others had paused as well. Arthur nodded from where he carried the girl. Gawain Grabbed the Priest and pressed his sword to his neck. "Is their any other alive back there?" The priest shuddered, his eyes flicking to the room. Lancelot turned and stepped back into the main room, his eyes swept over it again. Behind him Gawain repeated his question. "Are their any others alive?" Something moved above Lancelot's head, he leapt forwards and spun, his second sword all but leaping into his hand. He let out a small cry of shock. A figure hung suspended from chains above the entrance. Eyes blinked down at him in pain.

"Dagonet!" He called as he sheathed his swords. The man stepped quickly forwards he swore when he saw the girl and began t climb up beside her.

"Ready?" he asked, holding his axe against the chains. Lancelot nodded. With one great stroke of Dagonet's axe the chains gave way. She was falling he moved as she fell, he managed to catch her before she hit the ground, yet her dry lips still opened in a silent scream.

"By the gods!" he swore as he looked at her small face, she was barely older than a child was. Pale blue eyes watered with pain as the knights strode out into the sunshine. Weakly she was struggling in his arms. "Stay still!" He warned her as Arthur cried for water. Her bloodied hands and injured wrists flailed against him.

He brushed hair back from her pale face. Her eyes blinked weakly against the sunshine.

"Get me some water!" cried Arthur again. The small woman in Lancelot's arms struggled again, her lips moving. "Don't try to speak. You're going to be alright." He added as she continued to struggle. She seemed to frown, weakly she shook her head, but she did not have enough strength to make him release her. He saw the roman lady of the house press some water into Arthur's hand. "She's a woad." Said Tristan flatly from where he sat his mount nearby. He heard the other woman cough as Arthur gave her water. Lancelot looked up and met Tristan's eyes, the other knight nodded solemnly.

Tristan jumped down from his horse, he pressed a waterskin into Lancelot's outstretched hand. He opened the waterskin and pressed it to the girls cracked lips. She swallowed a sip and then lay back in his arms; carefully he pressed the skin to her lips again. She took several more sips, a small cough following the last sip.

"Stop what you are doing!" cried a voice behind Lancelot, he turned and looked up at Marcus Honorius stepped into the circle of people. Arthur thrust himself to his feet.

"What is this madness?" cried Arthur turning to face the Roman. "They are all pagans here!" he cried, his face showing his self-righteous anger.

Lancelot growled angrily from where he still tended the young girl. "So are we." He said as he poured water into his hand and brushing the water over the girl's forehead.

"They refuse the tasks god set them!" yelled Marcus. "They must die as an example!" he added.

Lancelot carefully put the girl on the ground as he made to stand, the tension in the air making him wish he had his swords in his hands.

"You mean they refused to be your serfs!" yelled Arthur. His anger mounting by the moment. Lancelot could see the incredulity on Marcus' face, he was shocked that Arthur had saved lives, Lancelot felt a bitter smile touch his lips.

"You are a Roman, you understand! And you are a Christian!" Lancelot saw Marcus' eyes fall upon his wife. "And you!" he exclaimed. "You kept them alive!" he said his hand lashing out to hit her cheek.

Both Lancelot and Arthur started forwards. Arthur slammed his fist into Marcus' jaw.

"Make another move," he growled placing Excalibur against the man's throat. "I dare you!" The man's eyes were wide with fear.

"When we get to the wall" said Marcus' his eyes revealing his hate, "you will pay for this heresy!" his words were full of spite.

"Maybe I should kill you now, and seal my fate!" said Arthur, pulling Marcus closer t his blade tip. Lancelot snapped his head around as a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Let him live." Said a hoarse voice. The trembling hand belonged to the girl who Lancelot had helped been helping. One of the priests chose that moment to speak up.

"I was willing to die with them," said the monk, his words held a mixture of fear and religious fervor. "And to lead them to their rightful place." The man added. Lancelot placed an arm around the trembling figure at his side. The man looked at her, a strange, half mad expression coming over his face. "It is God's wish, that these sinners are to be sacrificed. Only then can their souls be saved."

The figure at his side Spat weakly.

"Then your god is no god at all." She said harshly. Arthur looked from her to the monk, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Then I shall grant his wish." He said releasing Marcus. "Wall them back up!" he commanded.

"Arthur..." Tristan began. Their time was running out if they were to escape the Saxon advance.

"I said wall them back up!"

Arthur turned back to Marcus as Bors and some local peasants pushed the monks back inside the horrid dungeon and began to wall them back up. "These people will no longer do your bidding." He ground out, his eyes narrowed in anger. "As long as I live and breathe you will have no power over any Briton that crosses your path. You are a disgrace to Rome" he spat. "And your self proclaimed title of a spokesman for God is the only heresy found here." He growled.

"Arthur," Bors interrupted. "The wagons are ready. We must be on our way."

Arthur turned away from Marcus with a parting glare and nodded. "You and Gawain gather the people for departure," He ordered. "Galahad and Tristan will gather what's left of the supplies, Dagonet, Lancelot and I will get the injured in the wagons. We leave at once." Lancelot turned towards the girl beside him. She was swaying despite his arm around her waist. He quickly lifted her into his arms. He moved to the wagon Bors motioned him to. He climbed inside and laid the tiny woman down on some blankets. He took some others and wrapped them around her small, wasted form.

"Water." She croaked. He nodded.

"I'll fetch some for you." She tried to pull herself upright. He pressed his hands into her shoulders, forcing her back down onto the blankets. "Don't try to move." He said softly. His eyes softened, at the fear in her eyes. She seemed afraid every time he touched her. Her ran his eyes over her, even though half starved he knew she had a lovely body, her face was more than pretty. Her eyes were dark and bloodshot, yet he could still see their lovely blue colour, and her hair under the grime was a rich copper colour. Anger like he'd never known coursed through him; rage made his lips tighten as he gazed down upon her.

She gasped in pain and he realised his hands had tightened painfully on her upper arms. He released her and fled the wagon, passing Arthur and the girl he carried on his way.

He moved back to where his horse waited and mounted, his blood pounded in his ears as he watched the Roman soldier's marched past. He knew deep down that all soldier's committed terrible acts, but a strange rage possessed him at the thought of these soldier's hands on the slender girl who lay in the wagon. He wiped absently at the small spots of blood n his hands and lower arms.

Igraine watched the knight leave. He seemed angry. A wince ran through her as she lay back upon the blankets as Arthur entered the wagon with another woman. Igraine recognised one of the villagers who had been with her in the dark dungeon. She had to search her memory for a name. Guinevere. She was a young passionate girl, and a fine fighter. She was from Merlin's clan in the north.

Igraine sighed softly. Guinevere was a fine girl. She sent another faint prayer to the gods for sparing the girl, another knight entered with a young boy and another prayer was silently said. The boy was perhaps unconscious. She watched Arthur leave, her thoughts caught up in a confused tumble, the pain from her body numbing her thoughts. As she considered what it meant that these knights had been sent forth she slipped into slumber.

The wagons had been traveling for days through the mountains east of Marcus' estate. Lancelot felt the biting cold as he pushed his horse into a swifter trot, as he passed the wagon containing the three from the cells under Marcus' estate he slowed. A face looked out at him. The girl call Igraine turned away as he smiled at her. Behind her he saw Guinevere was asleep and the buy still burned with fever.

He pushed his horse up the slope to where Arthur waited.

"Arthur?" Arthur nodded at Lancelot's words. "We're moving to slow. The dark-haired girl and the boy aren't going to make it, the fairer one might." He paused and looked at the line of wagons. "We can protect the family, but we're wasting our time with all these people." His words were spoken with reason and regret, as though he wished he were less logical.

"We're not leaving them." Said Arthur simply, his tone firm. Lancelot nodded and returned to the wagon. Dagonet sat next to the small boy.

"How is he?" asked Lancelot softly.

"He burns." Came the short reply. "Brave boy." He added running a hand over the boys dark blonde curls.

Lancelot smiled and moved further into the wagon. The dark haired girl was asleep, her knees pulled up t her chest, and the copper blonde seemed determined not to look at him. He watched her; she was watching the snowfall outside the wagon. Finally she turned her eyes on him.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked softly, s as not to wake the other girl.

"A little." Her words were softly accented. She returned his gaze. He smiled and sat beside her. She drew back as he reached for her hands.

"May I?" he asked. He pulled bandages back from her wrists, he noticed two of her fingers were bent at odd angles, he would have to set them but after he had checked the cuts on her wrists from manacles.

He lifted the last bandages away from the scabs. He brushed a finger lightly over them. She didn't flinch though he knew it must have hurt. No heat from infection was apparent; neither did the cuts seem as deep as he had first feared. He then took her hand.

"I'll have to set these." He looked up. Fr a moment fear flashed in her blue eyes. She swallowed and nodded. He carefully pulled her fingers back into place. She didn't cry out, he smiled up at her pale face, her had last what little colour they had regained. He turned his head at a sway in the wagon, Arthur had stepped inside. Lancelot moved further up the wagon s he was sitting between the two women. The darker haired girl stirred and shifted away.

She winced as her bandaged hand brushed the floor of the wagon.

"Are you alright child?" asked Igraine softly. Lancelot turned in surprise at her choice of words, Arthur too looked surprised at the term, though Guinevere herself seemed un-surprised, though perhaps a little nervous.

"Y-yes," said Guinevere. "I'm fine. How's Lucan?" she said her head turning t regard the small boy.

"He is doing alright." Replied Dagonet, his hand still stroking the boy's hair.

"Now is not the time to worry for him." Said Arthur. "May I see your hand?" Guinevere shied back.

"It's just a bruise." She glanced towards Igraine, Lancelot followed her gaze, an inscrutable look was fastened on the fair girl's face as she watched Arthur.

"Then you won't mind if I take a look." Arthur smiled slightly and took the bandaged hand without asking. Guinevere flinched as he removed the bandages. "Must be some bruise." He commented, if he was aware of Igraine's watchfulness he did not show it. He examined Guinevere's fingers.

"Igraine's were the same." Said Lancelot softly. Though on Igraine most had been pushed back into place, on Guinevere they were all still out of place.

"Some of your fingers are out of place," Arthur told her. "I have to push them back." He paused as she sucked in a breath. "If I don't do this; there's a chance you may never use them again." She nodded. As Arthur pushed the fingers into place she cried out. Lancelot winced as the finger cracked and popped until they were all back in place.

Guinevere collapsed against Arthur, tears marring her face.

"He tortured us," her whimper was slightly hysterical. "With machines. He made us tell him things that..." She closed her eyes. "That we didn't know to begin with. "And for what?" the last seemed addressed to Igraine.

"Hush, hush now." The words were soft. Lancelot turned to find Igraine watching with a caring expression. "They won't hurt you again. I promise you child, nor roman will touch you again." Arthur turned t look at the other woman. The enigmatic eyes raised to meet his.

"Will they? Arthur Castas, and his brave knights?" she tilted her head to look up into Lancelot's eyes.

"No one will touch either of you again." Arthur promised. He gave Guinevere a long look before turning to Igraine. "My lady, you seem troubled." He said calmly. She returned his look with a slight smile.

"I am not troubled, Arthur Castas." He frowned, Lancelot shifted uncomfortably. Few used Arthur's full name. Few in the north knew it.

"Why do you call me that?" Arthur asked. He shared a look with Lancelot.

"Because I chose to." She replied softly. He frowned their was something about the girl that troubled Arthur. She seemed fearless, apart from when she was touched. He frowned again, Her eyes were pale, and still held a little f the feverish look that all three of them had had about them. But beyond that was a commanding presence, as though she were not some common girl, as did the other one, Guinevere. Though in Guinevere it was more her fighting spirit he thought than an actual command presence. In fact she behaved more like a nobleman's daughter, or a ranked officer than some woad girl would. Arthur frowned at this turn of thought and left the Wagon swiftly.

He mounted his horse and let the wagon fall behind. He imagined her face in his head. There was something familiar about it, about the set of her chin, the shape of her large eyes. He frowned fiercely. Then he called Guinevere to mind. He found himself calming, She was the opposite of Igraine, where Igraine seemed a mystery the way Guinevere spoke and the way she behaved were normal, if you could call what had been done to her normal. Guinevere was also strong and beautiful, he smiled, and then a thought struck him, he was enchanted by the pretty Guinevere, and drawn to the fair Igraine. He shook his head. Romantic follies were for other times. He realised the wagon was drawing close. He wheeled his horse and pulled in beside it. Guinevere was sitting in the open.

"My father told me great tales of you." She said with a smile.

"What sort of tales?" He asked, amusedly.

"Fairy tales. Of men so brave and selfless, they can not be real." She smiled wider. "Arthur and his knights." She finished. A pause spread between them then. She seemed to be thinking about something. Presently she asked. "How many Britons have you killed?" The question made him pause, what purpose did it serve.

"As many as tried to kill me." He said. He considered. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live." She looked at him with a slightly sad and perhaps wistful expression.

"Animals live. It's the natural state of any man to want to live free..." She paused. "In their own country."

Lancelot was sitting across the fire from Gawain. Gawain was stirring the pot of stew slowly. A tasty aroma filled the air from the stew, yet most of the others were at anther larger fire.

In the far distance Lancelot could hear the soft pound of Saxon drums. He shivered as the snow fell around him.

"You know Gawain, I do believe I too can't wait to get off this island." He grumbled as he shifted position.

"Pardon?" Asked Gawain, having forgotten his words of days past.

"'If it's not raining, it's snowing, and if it's not snowing, it's foggy.'?" Lancelot reminded him.

"Yeah…" Replied Gawain vaguely. Lancelot was content t allow silence to reign once again. He added some small sticks to the fire and waited. His stomach grumbled. He knew that he would be up again before first light yet for some reason he knew sleep would not come that night. The blonde Gawain sighed.

"Be back in a few minutes." He said and moved off into the trees. Lancelot nodded absently, his eyes fastened on the fire. "And don't eat it all before I get Back!" came the warning out of the trees. He chuckled softly. Leaning back he turned his eyes to the heavens. He watched the distant stars twinkle in the night sky, above him his breath hung in the air.

"It's a beautiful night." He spun and stood in a single movement. He paused when he saw the slender figure of Igraine. She watched him and raised an eyebrow. "So quick to see enemies in every shadow?" she asked softly.

"Few on this island are not my enemies." He replied shortly. Unnerved by her silent approach and calm manner. A smile touched her lips. o

"Few on this island could harm you, Lancelot." She replied. He frowned, for once lost for words.

"Would you like to sit?" he asked after a moment.

"Thank you, I would." She replied. She sat gracefully by the fire, lifting the wooden ladle she stirred the stew. She sniffed. "I believe it's cooked." She said.

"Well then please, be my guest." He motioned. "I'm sure you must be hungry." She smiled.

"Are you not hungry milord?" she asked as she lifted a wooden bowl. He nodded.

"I am…" He paused. "But I am no lord." She glanced up at him, pale eyes quizzical.

"And you are not a Roman are you?" she inquired softly.

"No." he said; her questioning made him slightly uncomfortable, in fact her presence at all made him slightly uncomfortable. "I'm Sarmatian." He said finally.

"Here." She said handing him a steaming bowl and some bread. He smiled his thanks and fetched a rough wooden spoon from his pack. He ate voraciously. He noticed that she ate her food slowly and with far more decorum and manners than he did.

He finished with a satisfied sigh. She smiled.

"I take it you enjoyed your food?" she asked with a small laugh. It was the first laugh he'd heard from her and he was amazed by the sweet sound of it. He could not help the grin that leapt to his face.

"I did. And you?" he asked motioning to he bowl.

"I fear I have eaten so little during the time I was in… that place… That my stomach rebels at the slightest amount of food." Her smile now seemed wan, her body he noticed was shivering and, her teeth were clenched to stop them from chattering.

"You are cold." He stated rising and taking his blanket to her. He wrapped it around her and then sitting beside her pulled her close. He felt her muscles spasm at his touch. "Relax. You will warm quicker this way." He said softly into her ear. Varying smells hung around her, through the scent of death from the dungeon he could smell wildflowers that she must have used the oil from on her hair. He smiled and pulled her even closer. He brushed lips across her hair and rocked her slightly.

He realised he was humming.

"What is that tune?" she asked softly.

"One my mother used to sing, to make me sleep." She nodded at his words.

"Is it a very long time since you were home?" she asked drowsily.

"Yes," he whispered. "A very long time..." He picked up the tune, and softly in Sarmatian he began to sing the words he knew of the song, humming the parts he didn't know. It was the story of a boy who longed t be a great warrior, but died on a battlefield far from home, his spirit though had come back in the steed that took his son to battle… A chill spread through him. He wondered if that was to be his fate, if he would die alone on some field on this accursed isle. And if he did die here, would his mother or sister ever know. Would they ever be told of him. Those who had come from the villages near his home had all departed. All were long gone to the home of the dead.

He looked down and to his surprise fund Igraine asleep in his arms. Her face seemed wondrously innocent in the night, he lay down, pulling her small body close, her back to the fire. Too his surprise sleep came easily, though his dreams were troubled. A strange path lay before his feet, and suddenly he wondered what would become of him if he journeyed home again. What awaited him in Sarmatia, and what was here for him.

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Please review! You'll make me so happy!


	2. Broken reflections of a distant memory

**Arthur, King of the Britons

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A/N: THANK YOU REVIEWERS! Throws candy for reviewers

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_Chapter II: Broken reflections of a distant memory...

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Arthur half dozed, his eyes were open however, they watched the sky, focusing n the bright stars. Soft steps nearby caused him to drip his sword and sit upright. He watched as, ghostlike, a slender figure in blue passed by the place where he slept. Silently he slipped after her, his footsteps silent, senses alert.

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Lancelot stirred, his slumber had been interrupted. He found himself facing the last embers of his cook fire. He frowned, something was different from when he had fallen asleep. He sat up and noted that snow once more fell, absently he noticed that there was no snow beside where he had been sleeping.

"Igraine." He murmured. He stood quickly. He cast his eyes around, searching for some sign. He smiled slightly in triumph. Small footsteps made their way from the clearing. Quickly he followed after them. The path they took skirted through the forest. Ahead he seemed to hear words, filtered through the trees. Arthur was ahead! He moved closer, the voice raised.

"-killed me mother!" Arthur said, his voice angry and harsh. Lancelot hurried ahead.

"And my family too Arthur." He recognised the lilting tones. Igraine was ahead, with Arthur and others were obviously present.

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur, his words now suspicious and confused.

"You used to play with a little boy when you were a child. Mordred, he used to tease you. He was my half-brother. I was then known as Morgana. I was only a babe. We were the only other children who survived that night. Mordred took me north of the wall Arthur. To our Mother's people." Silence came from ahead. Lancelot stepped from the trees into what appeared a frozen tableau. Arthur's sword hung from his hand, an ancient Woad man watched with keen interest and Guinevere watched Arthur.

Igraine stood in front of him, her back turned to him, but he knew from the way she stood that she was watching Arthur.

"It was mistake, a terrible mistake Arthur." Her voice was sweet and soft. "But you have a chance to save others from our fate, you can save so many… Will you turn your back on them?" Her voice was filled with reason and caring. Arthur stepped closer to her, his eyes narrowed in thought and perhaps recognition.

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"Hey! Arthur Castas!" eleven-year-old Arthur turned at the taunting voice. The by who spoke was several years older than Arthur. Taller and stronger he had taken a dislike to Arthur early on. The boy brushed fair hair out of an astonishingly good-looking face. Arthur felt his cheeks flush. He had recently begun to notice girls, yet all the yung girls in the area found him both odd and un-attractive, especially when compared Mordred. The good looking boy smiled, it was a truly unpleasant expression, yet took nothing away from his handsome looks. "What do you want Mordred?" He asked, suppressing his fear, if today was the day Mordred was too finally make good on his promises of retribution then today it would be. The taller boy was advancing when a rich voice called out.

"Mordred!" A figure stepped over the hill behind Arthur, he turned and found a smile upon his face.

"Arthur!" Her face turned delighted, Mabelle was Mordred's beautiful step mother, her skin was like snow and her eyes were a rare shade f blue like some of the wildflowers that grew in the hills nearby. She paused in the grasses, she tilted her exquisite face and smiled at them. "I hope you boys weren't fighting?" she questioned sternly. Both had shaken their heads. She smiled, and Arthur had thought his heart might burst with joy. If Mordred was the most handsome man or by for miles than his father's pregnant second wife was the most beautiful woman, as she approached her thick coppery curls caught the suns light and reflected it like her hair was made of gold. She brushed a hand across Arthur's head. He smiled up at her; her stomach he noted was pushing through her dress' folds. He grinned like a fool as he noted the happiness radiating from her face.

Arthur felt tears spring to his eyes, that was the second time painful memories had risen tonight. He looked at the contours of the girl's face. Her large eyes to were that odd shade f blue, her mouth was the same bow-shape. Her hair curled softly around her face, it's copper tinted blonde even shone in the moonlight.

A gasp left his mouth. "Mabelle?" his voice was choked now with a different emotion, he felt amazement flow through him, as Igraine smiled he noted the way her eyes lit up like her mothers.

"She was my mother." The whisper seemed to cost Igraine. Behind her in the dark another figure had appeared, Arthur looked upwards, Lancelot was watching, his face revealed his shock.

"And Mordred?" he forced the words out. Igraine turned away her face pained.

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"He died, one of your knights killed him… Years ago." Igraine looked up; her eyes met Lancelot's, he saw pain reflected in there depths. She paused. "That was yesterday," she twisted to look at Arthur one last time. "On the morrow the Saxons may find us, and I may be fighting alongside your knights, for my life." She walked up to Lancelot, her eyes met his for a moment before she passed him by, walking away into the forest. Lancelot looked back down into the clearing. A tear was tracing it's path down Arthur's cheek.

"Follow her Lancelot." He said before turning back towards the old woad man. Lancelot paused, then turned away and began after Igraine. He found her seated by the ash that had been his fire, he could hear her teeth chattering as he approached. He brushed a hand over her shoulder. Starting she turned to look up at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling beside her. She nodded.

"It's cold." She whispered. He put an arm around her and drew her close. She shivered still as he held her, his cloak around both of them. "What was that song you sang about?" she asked as her shivering died down.

"It was about a great warrior, all his great deeds, and how he died…" He trailed off. Her blue eyes were looking up at him. Again he could not shake the feeling she gave him, she was s small, yet seemed strong, her eyes held a spark that told him she was courageous and clever.

"My brother used to sing very different songs to me at night." She whispered.

"Oh?" he encouraged her.

"Yes, his songs were about the path life could lead, about what love was like, even one about my mother, describing her beauty." She paused, "But he never sang about war, or fighting. I think he feared it." He words were barely audible even though her lips were scant inches from his ears. He remembered the first time he had ridden into battle. No bloodlust had come to him that day, and all he had felt afterwards was bitterness and disgust. He was god at it but he cared not for war. Those he killed were not his enemies, they were someone else's enemies. "Yet when the time came he went and he fought… and he died." Lancelot squeezed his arms tighter around her, an unconscious way of trying to take away her pain.

"He sang his favorite the night he left." she smiled slightly. He tucked her head underneath his chin as she began to sing.

"We dream in circles,

We follow the sunlit path into the night.

Our hearts call upon our memories to whisper to us.

We dream in the night.

We reach for hope from the darkness.

We are seeking the way to freedom from fear.

We are dreaming now."

They sat in silence for a time. Lancelot waited patiently for her to fall asleep once more. He finally knew that she was asleep at last. Her breathing was even and low. Carefully he stood, pulling her with him. Cradling her in his arms he began towards the wagons. Carefully he settled her sleeping form beneath one of the wagons. He placed his dark cloak over her and walked away into the night.

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The early morning air was crisp and cool. Igraine opened her eyes and found herself looking at a pair of boots. She froze in the process of stretching. She saw other pairs of boots nearby. Carefully she rolled in the opposite direction. She saw no one on the other side of the wagon. Silently she rolled out from under the wagon. Carefullly she began to edge around the wagon, she took the cloak that had been wrapped around her and fastened it. Shouts and cries rent the morning air. She kept still as feet came running. As she stepped arund the wagon only one pair of eyes took note.

"I have the boy!" called Marcus, Igraine Looked quickly around. Guinevere, Lancelot and Arthur stood near, each bore weapons but the coward held Lucan close, a dagger held t the boy's throat. She noted a sword lay discarded near her right foot. She saw Dagonet watching, blind rage on his features. Making a swift decision she grabbed the sword and with a single thrust dispatched one of the roman guards. Pulling the sword out she whirled and thrust her sword into Marcus Honorius' un-armoured side. The sharp sword slid through his flesh under the armpit. In the same movement she kicked Lucan's legs out from underneath him, causing the boy to drop from the shaky grip of his captor.

She pulled her sword from the dying man's body and with another turn brought it ringing into contact with one of the other Romans swords as he leapt to defend his master. She felt the sword in her hand shivering as she tried to hold it firm against the superior strength of her opponent…

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Lancelot watched the small woman wield the blade as though born with it in her hands. As the blades rang through the air and the two opponents struggled he moved swiftly forwards. The other Knights had now arrived, swiftly they covered each of the Roman guards. Lancelot Placed one of his blades against Igraine's opponent's neck.

"Back down!" he commanded. The man quickly took the hint and stepped back. The others complied with Arthur's order to lay down their weapons. He was speaking but Lancelot cared not, he was holding a pale Igraine upright. She was wan and shaking.

"I'm alright," she told him softly.

"No you're not." He told her, lifting her he took her back to her wagon. She was still holding the sword when he sat her on the front of the wagon.

She looked down at him with wide eyes. A fleck of blood sat on her cheek, like an unwholesome tear. Carefully he took the edge of his cloak that was still around her and used the corner to wipe away the blood. She blinked at the blood on the edge of his dark cloak.

"It could have been me." She whispered. He paused in his ministrations, his hands pausing as the brushed her hair away from her face.

"Who could have?" he asked gently, she seemed on the verge of crying, a weakness he doubted she wanted to reveal to him.

"Either of them. I-I could be dead, or I could be…" She took a steadying breath.

"But your not." He said softly. He found himself drowning in her blue eyes, he leaned closer, her shocked eyes widened further as he brushed his lips over hers.

"Get ready to ride!" he pulled back quickly. He cursed as his head smacked into the edge of the roof of the wagon. He stumbled away without looking back at Igraine. He cursed himself voraciously as he mounted his stallion. The feisty but well trained horse snorted and shook his head as Lancelot encouraged him into a trot.

* * *

Arthur glanced over at his friend as he drew alongside. Lancelot had a dark brooding expression on his face, his mouth was pursed in concentration.

"What troubles you my friend?" Arthur asked gently. Lancelot started and turned his head to look at Arthur. Arthur found himself troubled at the dark biting anger in his eyes. "What's happened?" he repeated. Lancelot shook his head.

"Nothing my friend." The words bespoke the lie that they said. Arthur took a deep breath. He weighed the options of what had caused this change from his mood only a few hours before.

"Is Igraine alright?" he asked. He watched his friend's reaction. The tightening in Lancelot's jaw told him he had the problem or at least part of the problem.

"Fine." The curt reply came. Arthur watched ahead of him fr a moment, the path twisted through the forest.

"I am amazed at her being here." Commented Arthur in an attempt to draw his friend out. Lancelot nodded. "She's as beautiful as her mother." He glanced at his friend. Lancelot still had that blank expression of anger. "She was a great beauty you know. Eyes the colour of those blue flowers that grow in the dales near where I grew up. And her hair, like spun gold in the sunlight…" Arthur's smile widened as he took in his friends grim aspect.

"Fine!" snapped Lancelot. "I care for her!" he growled. "Happy?" he added as he turned away and began back down the caravan. Arthur frowned. His friend was deeply affected by these feelings. He sighed. His thoughts turning to the plans he, Merlin and Guinevere had made the night before. He felt sadness greater then any he had ever known at the prospect of leaving his knights, his friends.

"No, Lancelot, my friend..."

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	3. Fleeting symbols of the future

**Arthur, King of the Britons

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A/N: On with the tale!

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Reviews: Thank you everyone... I lurve reviews, just love them! Throws more Candy

Guthwyn: Yes in the legends, but in the legends Guinevere was a devout Christian and Their were no romans... So I'm taking liberties with the whole Morgana/Igraine part of the story, and since there were mistaken and mixed identities and a 'sister' thang... shrug Does that explain it?

All Reviewers: Did I mention I love you guys?

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_Chapter III: Fleeting symbols of the future

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Lancelot cursed himself as he started back down the line of wagons. A dread was filling him as he drew closer to the wagon containing Igraine, Guinevere and Lucan. He averted his eyes and hoped she wouldn't see him, hoped she would be asleep-

"Lancelot!" He froze and mechanically turned his horse. She was leaning almost at a dangerous angle from the front of the wagon. A quick, nervous smile crossed her lips as he turned. He noticed that a brush in her hand, and her hair was floating, damp but clean and bright in the morning sun, she had changed too from the blood-spattered vestments she had worn. A gown of dark blue in a similar style to the other she had worn earlier was draped around her too slender form.

"Yes?" he replied a little sharper than he had intended. "Can I be of assistance?" he added, to soften his harshness. Under his breath he cursed himself. She had withdrawn to the front of the wagon, her face as pale as it had been earlier, paler perhaps, with spots of embarrassed colour on each cheek.

"I-I," she began stuttering, but a glance at him seemed to restore her composure. She blinked and looked ahead, rather than look at him. " I have hunted these mountains all my life. And we have a problem." she continued, her words now calmer.

"A problem?" he echoed. She turned an imperious gaze upon him, that faltered only in that she was still to pale and tears stood in her proud eyes. He felt the internal rage at himself fading away as she tilted her chin at a defiant angle.

"Yes. I must speak with Arthur." She said, her tone earnest, and with a slight entreaty in it. He looked back up the line, then back to her pale face. He guided his horse, Roshian closer to the wagon.

"Can you climb down Igraine?" he asked gently. After a glance at his face she nodded. With his hands on her waist he guided her until she sat in front of him, her legs dangling in front of his. He averted his eyes from what by any measure was an unseemly display of leg. Wrapping an arm around her waist he urged Roshian forwards.

As though he had left earth for heaven the outside world seemed to fade away and all he could see and feel was her sitting before him. He smiled; her hair no longer smelt of the dungeon, he noted that a few twigs had become entangled in the rich locks. An earthier scent pervaded her and another scent, that of woodsmoke, and she must have put an oil containing herbs and honey in her hair to clean it for their scent was present.

She turned her head, Her eyes were an even more unusual colour closer, and Arthur had mentioned a flower that grew in the mountains... He preferred her eyes. He realised her lips were moving and suddenly as though in a rush his other senses returned.

"-So it may be frozen over, but it will be dangerous getting the wagons across the river nonetheless." she finished, a frown marred her forehead. He nodded as though he had been listening all along, while silently berating himself for his inattention. She had seen his change of mood, immediately she shifted immediately to face forwards again.

As they rode he noted she seemed discomforted where he held her around the waist.

"Are you injured Igraine?" he asked, considering that she probably wouldn't have told him... Or the other knights abut any other injuries she might have. The way her head spun to face him told him she did. He smiled slightly. She frowned fiercely.

"You're mocking me." she accused. He shook his head.

"I was not." He retorted gently. She gave him an openly distrustful look. "I was concerned that you might be injured and were being-" he arched an eyebrow. "-Stubborn abut getting it treated." She paused.

"Concerned?" she asked. "I have seen your kind of concern." She said softly, her words mellowed by a strange look in her eye. But it was too late for him to ask her what she meant for they had reached the head of the column. He saw Arthur turn as though about to say something. He paused his mouth open then with a quizzical look at Lancelot turned to Igraine.

"Good morning Morgana." He said, using her name from childhood. She nodded.

"Good morrow." She replied courteously.

* * *

Arthur was shocked to see Morgana riding in front of Lancelot, though neither seemed entirely happy with the arrangement. She had a stubborn, self-conscious air about her that suggested Lancelot had been doing his normal attempt at wooing. Charming he was, but in this case probably doomed. If she was anything like Mordred...

"Good Morning Morgana." He said, the words respectful, and reassuring to the obviously awkward feelings of the young woman, by his guess she was perhaps nineteen, to the woad that meant she was of age to bear children and would long ago have been put to work in one way or another. If she were Roman than she would have been of an age to make an appropriate alliance with some other Roman's son.

"Good morrow." She replied, with an air he recognised as Mordred's, but where he had come across as sniping and arrogant she came across as slightly aloof and distant but with undeniable courtesy. "I have some news of the path ahead. This road we follow once led to a wood bridge over a river." Arthur felt a draining sensation.

"And the bridge is no longer there?" he said with a slightly wry smile.

She nodded. "The river does freeze over, but I doubt the ice will be strong enough in the center, and it is fed by an underwater stream and they do not freeze." She warned grimly. Arthur acknowledged her warning with a nod; his eyes focused on the path ahead.

"How far?" he asked. She turned in the saddle her eyes tracing the lines of mountains. She began to mutter a chanting rhyme in the language of the woad's. She paused and nodded t herself.

"Two to three hours away." Arthur nodded, his mind already thinking through his options. "Lancelot," he began vaguely. "Take Morgana back to her wagon and send Tristan and Dagonet to me."

* * *

Lancelot turned his horse once again towards the back of the line. As they passed the wagon Guinevere sent them a strange look. And Igraine shifted in front of him.

"Ahh-" she began.

"I know." He cut her off. "I will take you back in a few moments." Two knights were riding at the back of the Caravan. Bors was speaking boisterously to Dagonet about something Lancelot suspected was probably lewd. Dagonet sent a worried look at Igraine as Lancelot motioned for him too stop.

"Dagonet!" He called. "Arthur needs too see you, he's at the front of the caravan." Dagonet nodded. Lancelot noticed the smile and nod that Igraine gave him. He felt a surge of anger towards his friend and quickly quashed it, undoubtedly they shared feelings for the small by, Dagonet may have thought something had gone awry... He took a deep breath. "Bors? Where is Tristan?" called Lancelot. Bors turned in the saddle and pointed back down the path.

"Damn!" He watched the path as closely as he could but no sign of Tristan and his horse or even his hawk were visible.

"Tristan..." Igraine said softly, she looked back at him. A slight grimace crossing her face, as though pain had stabbed when she twisted. "He is your scout, your tracker?" she asked softly, a frown marring her forehead. Lancelot nodded. "And Arthur will want his skills to test the ice?" she asked softly. Lancelot nodded once more, a vague feeling of suspicion causing him to feel uncomfortable.

"Well I can do that." She said with an expression that suggested he would agree with her.

"You. Scout?" he asked, incredulous. She raised her eyebrows.

"I am capable, or don't you think a woman could be capable?" she asked, her voice icier than a glacier.

"Of course I think you could do it!" he scoffed. "But you are not going anywhere but back to your wagon!" he said with firm determination.

"I am the logical choice, who knows how far behind Tristan is?" she reasoned. Lancelot looked back down the path, willing the most reticent and unpredictable of the knights to appear on the path.

She was looking at him with a pleading expression. He looked down at her and finally with a last glance down the trail nodded.

"We'll also need to get me some weapons." She turned back to face ahead. "I don't intend to die here because I was unarmed." She added.

He took her to where the dead roman soldier was carried in a wagon. He took the man's weapons as well as some spares fund at the estate. She pulled the baldric over her head. With a short sword strapped to her waist, a curved scimitar on her back and a brace of daggers she no longer seemed beautiful. She seemed stunning. Standing on the wagon she gave him a smile.

"We have a saying in the north. 'Those who cannot fight can die, and those that kill will be killed.'" She paused. "I would rather not kill, but if I must." A ghostly smile touched her lips, a glow lit her eyes "I am most proficient." He returned her smile with a wolfish grin. She turned to where Roshian was tethered. Quickly they mounted, she sat behind him this time, her arms wrapped around his waist so he could control Roshian better should the need arise.

"Yah!" he cried, Roshian sped past the column, past Arthur and swiftly the horse covered the distance, indeed it seemed he did not feel the presence of the second rider. Lancelot smiled, he knew that She was light to carry and he expected her weapons were nearly as heavy as she was.

* * *

Guinevere watched as the figures rushed past the wagon, cries of praise and awe coming from the Britons as they in their pride called out at the battle ready maid as she went past, and the handsome knight in front helped, thought Guinevere. She smiled slightly. The knight was obviously enamoured of Igraine, and Igraine had managed to save Lucan that morn, raising the esteem held for her by all the knights. That Guinevere would have done so a moment later had Igraine arrived mattered not and was not begrudged. She had shown bravery beyond anything expected of her. And the knights were grateful.

Guinevere wondered at the young woman's free spirit, amongst the people of the north, where Guinevere was considered a little unusual Igraine was extraordinary. She was a fine hunter, a better archer and a superb swordsman with enough intelligence that it was whispered that even Merlin listened to her words. Guinevere slipped back inside and began to inspect her own weapons that she had been given by Arthur. If the peace loving and tolerant Igraine carried weapons then battle was very near indeed.

* * *

Arthur turned at the sound of a horse galloping, he thought for one moment that they might be being attacked, then something extraordinary happened, the Britons and former surfs began crying out, their cries those of salute and not fear. He raised his eyebrows, Lancelot was riding his dark horse down the wagon line, and seated behind him, high and proud as though she were a queen sat Igraine looking every image the warrior she had that morning proved herself to be. A sword was strapped to one hip and another to her back as they sped past both gave him smiles. He shook his head.

He supposed that they would join Dagonet, he smiled, and perhaps Morgana had had a thought about crossing the river. Added to the fact that she had obviously hunted before, and was a capable swordsman and he thought she was likely very capable of judging the ice ahead. Ahead in the sunlight her hair was flowing free in the wind, like a horse's mane, or a banner of rippling silk in the wind. He smiled and shook his head, whichever of them had thought of uit the expressions of hope and joy on the faces f those behind showed they were entranced by the handsome knight and beautiful warrior girl riding like the wind on his coal black stallion.

Only one worry crossed his mind. Would Morgana-Igraine he reminded himself, he had noticed a slight wince at her former name every time he spoke it- was obviously a spirited and exemplary girl, but she had been imprisoned and tortured -only God knew what else had been done to her- could she survive the coming trials?

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	4. Dark reflections of a shattered image

Arthur, King of the Britons

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A/N: THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS!

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Chapter IV: Dark reflections of a shattered image...

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Beneath them the ground passed by in a rush, the hours it would take the wagons to arrive would take them only two dozen minutes. Igraine's heart pumped wildly with joy as the wind rushed over her face. She found riding exhilarating, though few horses were north f the wall and woad's did not ride them, and certainly not into battle. The cold armor beneath her hands was no longer painful as the icy wind bit into the skin of her face causing it to tingle, Her hair was flying back from her face, a banner of copper-gold against the countryside covered in snow. 

"How much further?" called Lancelot, keeping his eyes where his horse galloped to beware any injury to his mount. She glanced around the countryside as it rushed past.

"Not too far, I think were closer than I thought." She said with a frown. "Slow down! You don't want to come around the last bend and hit the ice at this speed." He nodded silently and reined the huge mount in so that they were trotting. A regret settled in her as the wind ceased to roar and the world passed by at a more sedate pace. She paused in her musing to survey the countryside. She smiled. "Around that bend." She reached past him with one hand and pointed at the last bend. Lancelot nodded. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly and quickly put it back around his waist. A rush of excitement and happiness was causing her to tremble as well as the frigid air and reasonably light clothing she wore combined to make her skin tingle as they slowed and stopped. The icebound river was beautiful to behold... Beautiful and potentially deadly.

* * *

He slipped from the saddle with ease; he reached up and helped Igraine down. He noticed her wince as he lifted her around her too slim waist. She grimaced. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, his earlier concern rushing back as he took in the sudden pallor to her cheeks. Just minutes before she had been flushed, her eyes bright and a smile upon her face, now her face seemed pale and she far too fragile too be out in the cold. She took a deep breath before pushing away from him.

Now she was walking back and forth on the ice, her eyes searching.

"She's good." Came the words from Dagonet.

"Hmm" was the only response. Lancelot watched as the snow fell around her, her unbound hair curled down to her waist, and her small hands seemed to fidget constantly as she walked. The dark dress brushed the surface as she walked, making a soft sound to accompany the silent fall of the snow and small noises the two horses were making as they waited in the cold. Finally after more than an hour she started back.

"Is it safe?" he asked. Though by her expression he could see she was disturbed. She shrugged slightly.

"It might be." Down the trail the sound of the wagons could be heard. "Good, they're coming." Said Dagonet, and sure enough Arthur and the refugees appeared a moment later. Lancelot spoke swiftly and quietly to Arthur, his words counter-pointed by the Saxon drums growing ever louder.

Arthur ran his eyes over the lake himself before dismounting.

"Get out, we walk." He glanced towards those dismounting and climbing from wagons. "Spread out!" Lancelot took Roshian's reins.

* * *

Tristan walked to the right of Arthur, leading his horse, Garfodd, his pale eyes swept the ice and snow, searching for cracks. Too his left walked Igraine, she had pushed ahead of the others, her moving in front of Arthur was subtle yet sent many messages. She respected him, she was protecting him and she was proving to her people that she was equal to the Roman commander, and to the Romans that she was not afraid. Tristan glanced back down to where his steps were leading him. For an instant he saw his reflection where he was to put his foot, his face covered by hairline cracks, with a groan the ice split. He jumped back swiftly, pulling his horse away. The fragile ice cracked and he felt fear as he turned to see whether Igraine too had stopped. She was paused like a hound; her body taught and eyes wide as the crack spread to just behind her, she did not move a muscle, or even tremble. 

The eyes of all present watched the young woman. The snap of cracking ice faded away as the booming of the Saxon drums drew closer. Slowly she moved her head, her eyes seeking Tristan's. Her blue eyes looked towards him without fear or trepidation, he felt surprise stir in him at their calmness. Slowly she took another step, her muscles ready to move if she caused the ice to crack further, he too tensed his, knowing she had sought his eyes as the closest save Arthur, and the only one she could look at in safety. Her step did nothing and a collective held breath was expelled into the air. Slowly she turned. Suddenly her face split into a wide smile.

"Aren't you glad it was me and not you?" she joked to Arthur with a wry grin. Arthur actually smiled a moment at the comment. He then looked to the crack across the ice and then turned towards his men. They knew what he was silently asking each of them.

We were going too slow however and the drums got louder and louder. Arthur looked at us.

"My ass is sore from riding all day." Bors said simply.

"Let's see what the bastards look like." Galahad said with a rather dark expression.

"I never liked looking over my shoulder anyway." Tristan said with a shrug, he felt his body come alive at the prospect of the coming fight.

The others nodded their agreement with their comrade's statements.

"I am able. I can fight." Alecto said as coming forwards, his youthful face showing a mixture of emotions.

"No." Arthur said, his hand reaching out to touch the lads shoulder. "You must live to recount all that you have seen." He told him, his words overlaid with a slight sorrow.

"But you are seven against two hundred!" He protested, his eyes showing his fear that the knights would be killed, Tristan allowed himself the slightest smile as he turned away, If only the boy knew how many had died, and would yet die, it was the way of things.

"Eight." Guinevere said as she strode forwards with her bow. "You could use another bow." She commented her eyes on Arthur.

* * *

Igraine felt a fierce sense of pride and sorrow as the knights agreed to remain. The drums grew louder. 

She watched Guinevere step forwards, her dark eyes resting on Arthur.

"Nine, actually." Her words were softly spoken, yet every one of the knights turned, they looked at the slender girl dressed in a soft gown and her lethal array of weapons. A wolfish grin lit Bors' face.

"Ah, me little darlin'!" he said expansively.

Arthur turned to the refugees who instinctively moved closer to the presence he radiated. He motioned to Ganis.

"This man is your captain. You will follow his instructions!" Arthur said in a tone that warned the remaining Roman guards that this was not to be questioned, as they seemed disgruntled, they moved amongst themselves.

"And if you even think of revolting... Just remember." She smiled in what she knew was a cold and amazingly evil way. "I am a witch, and each of you will die, screaming in torment if you do not obey Ganis."

The tone of her voice was colder than ice, and though she knew it not, her strange eyes glittered with menace, her casual use of power in speaking where no Roman woman would have, combined with the soldiers memories of the way she had killed their master and another of his guards was a powerful mixture. Combined with the knights silent threats. She smiled in a wicked fashion as she withdrew her sword and made a swift circle in the air, the sword glowed as she swung it and then pointed it at the lead soldier.

* * *

The refugees and their reluctant guards had just disappeared around the bend, leaving the knights standing in a line across the ice. Lancelot looked down at the small woman beside him, and the taller Guinevere on the other side. Both wore simple dresses as they stood in the gently drifting snow. Lancelot smiled at Guinevere as he noticed a flash of fear as the Saxons appeared. "There are a large number of lonely men out there." Lancelot he commented. Guinevere looked up and smiled. 

"Don't worry, I won't let them rape you." She replied sarcastically. He grinned at her before looking again at Igraine. He felt his smile melt away. Her face was pinched and taught a dark expression of pain on her face. He sensed it was not a physical pain that darkened her. For the first time he felt that inner fire he admired, the bravery and compassion, the courage and intelligence fade, as she seemed close to tears as she looked across the ice. Suddenly he remembered her pain after the deaths that morning; the darkness and pain had been visible then too. But he had no more time to ponder.

Arrows were fired as the Saxons started out onto the ice in large numbers. They fell well short but they were still a warning that he should ponder these thoughts later.

"Prepare to fire!" Arthur commanded. Guinevere gave him a look of surprise and anger.

"They're out of range!" She exclaimed, her words showing she felt anger that Arthur would waste arrows. He barely glanced at her. "Bors, Tristan!" He cried the order. They raised their bows and fired a succession of arrows. Their arrows fell amongst the Saxons, wounding and killing. But still the Saxons came on, though now there was an edge of fear to their approach.

"Aim for the outside. Push them together." Arthur commanded, his voice carrying no further than necessary so as not to forewarn the enemy of his plan. The Saxons crunched together, their ranks collapsing inwards, but still they pressed on, the ice staying firm beneath their feet. After several more volleys of arrows they had collapsed still further, their fear making them retreat.

Lancelot aimed and fired, drew and released; he did not wait to see whether he had struck his targets. Beside him Igraine was firing two arrows for every one of the others, her aim seemed uncannily accurate he noted, as another fell from her out of sync shot. He drew and released again.

"The ice isn't breaking. Prepare!" he cried, half the knights readied their swords whilst the others continued to fire, Guinevere and Igraine simply remained firing.

"They have Armor piercers!" warned Igraine between shots. Lancelot noticed her face was still pinched but had all the expression of a block of stone. He shivered in the chill air as she fired again.

Suddenly down the line Dagonet threw down his sword and gripped his axe. With a great roar he pelted across the ice, several Saxons fired at him.

"Dagonet!" cried Arthur; Bors joined his cry of anger and anguish. Dagonet never paused. He arrived at the crack across the ice and raised the great axe. With a tremendous heave he smashed at the ice. Igraine suddenly ran forwards, her soft leather shoes pattering on the ice. "Igraine!" cried Lancelot, his mind screaming at him to run after the seemingly insane girl, the only thing that stopped him was his training. Her arrows were clutched in her fist. She took two dozen steps and knelt, raising her bow. She aimed with uncanny accuracy. Her arrow struck a Saxon archer through the neck.

"Cover them!" roared Arthur as arrows fell sporadically at Bors and Igraine. Lancelot forced the taste of bile away and Raised his bow, blocking out the arrows that fell so close to the two ones he cared for. He saw another great stroke out of the corner of his eye he saw Dagonet heave another great stroke at the ice. It shattered and began to crack, but it was too late, A Saxon ran forwards with a crossbow, an arrow sliced through his eye, another ran forwards and was cut down by an arrow, but more Saxons were firing at the brave knight now.

* * *

Arrows bit into the ice around her as archers tried to shot the young woman who was so effectively killing them. Deep inside her tears were shed, yet her outside was as hard and cold as the ice at the edge of the lake, it would melt after the battle but for now it was hard and strong, deadening her senses to everything but the enemy. Aim, kill, aim, kill... She saw a man with a strange blonde braid and slight beard grab a crossbow from another, she reached for her third last arrow and aimed as the man fired. The weapons kickback caused him to duck, her arrow grazed over his head, his scream cut through her as it mingled with the cry from Dagonet, mortally wounded he made one final effort. As he fell to his knees the ice gave a great popping crack. The bow and arrow fell from suddenly nerveless fingers. 

An inhuman scream of outrage ripped from her lips as she ran to the fallen man's side. She gripped his upper arms as arrows fell like a deadly form of rain through snow that drifted softly onto the blood that pooled beneath the dead and dying. Tears of bitterness left her eyes as she stumbled and fell another arrow fell with a sickening thump into Dagonet's side. She screamed again, an animal cry as she crawled, hauling the heavier man with her. Suddenly Bors and Arthur were with her as the Ice cracked and suddenly the ice fell out from underneath the Saxons. The ice began to crack in their direction, She heaved but suddenly the ice cracked around them, Arthur and Bors threw themselves away trying to haul Dagonet and the crazed girl with them to no avail. The two sank from sight into the icy depths below the ice...

And Lancelot's voice howled out his anguish. "Igraine!" he cried running forwards. He threw himself to where the ice was closing over the two. For a moment her face was visible in the ice. Blue eyes wide.

Then she vanished.

"Igraine!"

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Nice cliffhanger huh? Evil grin PLEASE REVIEW!!! If I get enugh reviews I will pst the next chapter within 24hrs! It's called "In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have come" 


	5. In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have c...

**Arthur, King of the Britons.**

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A/N:_Muches on cookie. _Thank you all my wonderful reviewers. I'm afraid this chapter is a bit short and is only half of the original fifth chapter. _Cries. _I am having a bit of a problem with the wording of the rest of the chapter so this is "In Darkness I am", the rest is "From Darkness I have come" and I will try to upload it tomorrow! SO SORRY ABOUT THIS!

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_Chapter V: In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have come...(Part I)_

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The icy cold hands of the water ripped her away from the anguished cry of her name. Her hand was trapped. She desperately struggled, one hand scrabbling at the ice above her head, finally her hand gripped broken ice, and holding just her fingers above the surface, she turned her attention to the hand caught in Dagonet's cloak, he himself was weakly struggling with her hand. For one moment she thought he was trying to keep her with him in this watery grave, and then she realised he was trying to free her from the weight of his armor that pulled him into the swiftly flowing current. The hand on the ice suddenly screamed pain along her already burning arm, Another block of ice had crushed and between them her only recently healing hand was being crushed. Her lungs were fighting hard. Finally she felt the hand that was trapped release, For a moment Dagonet passed closer to her, she saw his eyes, wide with pain and fear as he was swept away in the current. Going ever deeper as his armor that should have protected him killed him. She raised the free hand and gripped her sword and slashed up through the ice, her arm felt like lead and the current was pulling her. She was blacking out. 

Darkness crept in around her and the sword was stuck in the ice. Fingers fell away from the hilt, eyes shut against the waves of pain she drifted into the oblivion. The face of her brother crossed her mind, the first man she had ever killed, the first time she had been kissed, the moment Lancelot had leant close and bestowed her second kiss, the way his eyes had melted the last vestiges of ice packed around her heart...

His voice screaming her name as though he was in pain... Pain... Pain... And blackness, the blackness inside... The blackness around her...

"Igraine!" Lancelot screamed as her face disappeared into the darkness beneath the ice. A terrible ache filled him as he scrabbled around trying desperately to catch a glimpse of her... To save her. Arthur gripped his friend and pulled him away as more ice gave way. Then all was still. Still except for the wild beating of Lancelot's heart.

"No." The words were whispered. And echoed by the screams of denial from Guinevere as she ran forwards, Arthur turned and grabbed the young girl. Her eyes were large with tears.

Suddenly She twisted out of his grip. Arthur took two steps after her. A white hand was thrust through a crack in the ice, but a Guinevere went closer and knelt by the hand the ice groaned and shifted, crushing at the scrabbling hand, blood stained the ice red. The hand jerked and then Lancelot was there weeping he began to beat at the ice on the other side of the crack it was stuck in with bare hands. Arthur looked from one face to the other, both were distraught beyond reason. The other knights had gathered, they were obviously pained and Bors was weeping as well. He curled his second hand around Excalibur as he knelt beside the two distraught and desperate ones he cared for.

Lancelot started. A sword rammed up through the ice he had been pounding on. He choked back sobs.

"She's-" he didn't finish as Arthur stood. He lifted his sword, the ice had turned slightly clear, through it a pale face was visible unmoving, a soft wave of deep red flowing around her. He lifted Excalibur and struck the Ice with all his might. It cracked and suddenly both Guinevere and Lancelot were pulling away bits of Ice. Bors, knelt beside Guinevere and gripped the small white fingers in his vice-like grip. Excalibur rose and fell once more in a glittering arc and suddenly the face was visible as Guinevere pulled the head up. She was slightly gray with blue lips from the cold. Guinevere and Bors were both shoved back as Lancelot half-dived into the water and heaved, lifting the tiny pale figure from the water. The ice was once more groaning.

"Let's move!" recommended Tristan his normally low, controlled voice over laid with pain and sadness. Lancelot ran like a man possessed across the ice, the knights and woad maiden following upon his heels as more ice cracked behind them.

Lancelot wrapped the tiny bundle in his own cloak at the edge of the lake. He gripped her around the chest and squeezed hard enough to bruise, unconsciously her mouth opened and water came out accompanied with weak spasms. The other knights gathered around. Wordlessly their cloaks were wrapped around her and then they mounted their tethered horses, Lancelot clutched her too him as though she might brake. He hair was wet and she was obviously very cold, only the slightest tremble and faint rise of her chest advised him she was alive. He pulled her closer with the arm around her. He pressed his lips to her head as he over took the last wagons; his fellow knights followed him. The wagons stopped as he slid awkwardly from his horse. He was helped by someone to get her inside the wagon, Tristan he thought he laid her down on Guinevere's side of the wagon and snapped at whoever had followed him to get out.

He grabbed his dagger from his waist and slit the dress Igraine was wearing. He then turned her over and pressed down on her chest she coughed weakly. She had unconsciously coughed up a little water but he wanted all of it expelled before he wrapped her in warm clothing. That was when he noticed a rough bandage wrapped around her hips and anther around her lower ribs. He cursed at the sight of unknown of injuries. And answered an enquiry with another epithet.

He quickly peeled the bandages back from her gray skin. She was icy as the snow to touch. One was an old wound where a sword or dagger meant to disembowel her had hit her hipbone. The other was dark purple bruising that he thought meant she had been beaten. Other marks showed on her upper thighs. He tightened his jaw at the outlines of hands upon her flesh...

None of the injuries needed his immediate attention and so he lifted her up and placed her on her side of the wagon, which was more covered. He then stripped his armor and then the padded leather shirt underneath it. Carefully he lay beside her and pulled her close to him. He pulled blankets up around them, the warmth of his body seemed feverish against her frozen flesh. He pressed his lips once more to her forehead as he allowed his tears of fear to fall, and with them an admission of more than he had told Arthur that morning.

"Don't die," he sobbed into her ear. "I need you... I need you Igraine." And for only the fourth time since he had left home he had wept.

* * *

Will she live? Will she die? Check back soon and find out! MW HAH HA HA! 

And meanwhile leave a review with your thoughts... Even your flames if you chose. _Hands Candy to reviewers ;)_


	6. In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have c...

**Arthur, King of the Britons**

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Chapter V: In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have come...(Part II)

* * *

Arthur whispered warnings for none to enter the wagon where Igraine lay and Lancelot tended her. He had heard Lancelot's whispers and sobs as he passed the wagon and his heart went out to his friend, though at times Lancelot seemed shallow and indeed many women who should not have had in fact graced hi bed. But several he had fought for, his feelings for them eradicating his usual charm and self-assurance, his feelings for them filled with love and the knowledge that they were special, as they inevitably were.

Arthur sighed as he ran a hand over his face, his fingers touching the slight stubble he had allowed to grow. They were still over two days away from the wall. He sent a prayer to heaven that they would reach the wall with all haste, for all of their sake's, but especially Morgana's.

* * *

Guinevere waited for hours, her feet treading a weary path beside the wagon where Igraine was with Lancelot. She feared what might happen if Morgana died, she had effectively reached out to the knights in a way Guinevere envied. And all around her people seemed to turn to her for advice, comfort and leadership. They were qualities even Merlin acknowledged were valuable. Guinevere considered the only other two she knew who had that effect of trust and leadership as Igraine. Merlin and Arthur brought out the best in those around them, they were natural leaders, and Guinevere knew from rumor and now experience that Igraine was another such as they.

People wished to be near them. To bask in the reflection of what they thought was a great person with few worries. Guinevere knew better. She saw the worry's and fears hidden in Arthur and Igraine's eyes. And particularly in Arthur's worried gaze. His fears and dreams were caught up in a tangled web inside him.

Igraine too seemed stooped under burdens beyond her young years, she was three years younger than Guinevere, yet had all the maturity and surety of being of someone twice her age. Her decisions were decisive and firm. Her belief in right and wrong unshakable, her longing for a better world for those she had ruled and those she cared for as great as Arthur's belief in his God and as firm as Merlin's belief in his people's right to freedom. She was startled out of her reverie by a voice rough with emotion.

"Guinevere," she gasped and looked up into Lancelot's dark eyes. "She will need you... I must talk to Tristan." He said as he leapt lightly from the wagon, his armor buckled around him slightly crooked.

Guinevere nodded silently as he jogged away, Swiftly she climbed into the wagon, ignoring the throbbing in her left hand as she used it to pull her self upwards. She ducked inside the gloomy wagon. It took her a moment to adjust from the snow glare outside. With a glance she noted the remains of Igraine's dress lying in rags on the right side of the wagon. She then turned her eyes to the pale figure lying in the mussed blankets on the other side of the wagon.

She knelt beside her and brushed a hand across the pale temples. Her fingers confirmed the swat that beaded her face was from a fever, and that her temperature was running high. Guinevere then pulled back the blankets. She checked the cuts she had heleped bind two days before. They had not re-opened badly though one was weeping onto her hip. She reached for the bandages Dagonet had stored in the wagon. She with difficulty wrapped a clumsy bandage around the Igraine's slender hips.

Then she lifted Igraine's left hand, the one that had been trapped in the ice. It was covered in dark blood and traces of bruising were in evidence between the dried scabs. Guinevere ducked outside and scooped some fresh snow from the front of the wagon. Carefully she carried it inside she used a bandage to wrap the snow around the bruised hand and then returned with another handful to pack around that she had already used, she the wrapped the hand in a piece of the ruined dress.

She brushed her fingers over Igraine's forehead again, it was feverish. Guinevere rocked back n her heels; Igraine probably still had some water in her lungs and would likely be very weak if she came through the next few hours. Guinevere wished for her mother with her knowledge of herbs t bring down the fever and wake the tiny woman who would without a doubt lead when Merlin died. Carefully Guinevere lay all the blankets on top of Igraine and sat in silent vigil, watching the labored rise and fall of the younger woman's chest.

* * *

Igraine became aware of sounds around her, someone was humming a tune, a horse snorted nearby, wheels crunched snow as they rolled. The next thing she noticed was the bump and sway, which resettled her in the tight warmth that enveloped her from chin to feet, then the scent of crushed herbs came to her nose. Suddenly pain came from a dull ache to a startling clarity all in a moment, a gasp escaped her lips as her lungs seemed to catch n fire, her left hand seemed mangled and she felt that if she opened her eyes it would be broken and twisted. Yet open her eyes she did, to a blurry darkness mre terrifying then the darkness of the oblivion. She blinked desperate for smtinh to focus on. Something moved into few. A haze of dark curls and skin came in front of her.

"Igraine!" the mouth moved in accompaniment to the word that reached her ears yet in the distance a roaring could be heard and everything was fading away once more. This time not to the depths of oblivion, but to the darkness of memories and dreams.

* * *

Lancelot moved back again as she slipped away into sleep. Her chest seemed to his eyes to be rising and falling stronger now. He added the last of the herbs Tristan had gathered and found in his pouches to the clay mug. Careful so as not to tip the hot mixture onto her flesh he lifted her head, sitting himself beneath her head he opened her mouth and with a deft pinch of her nose poured some of the potion inside her mouth, after a moment she sputtered and then swallowed. He allowed her a breath of air before making her swallow again. This he did until the mug stood empty. Then he laid her upon his lap and with his fingers curling through her rich hair, waited for her to wake.

* * *

He waited several hours; darkness had long ago settled outside the wagon when she finally stirred again. His fingers were brushing over her soft skin. Her eyes blinked and she focused on his features, she swallowed and opened her mouth.

"Water." He nodded and reached for the skin, carefully he let her drink a little then took it away. He brushed at a small trickle which escaped the corner of her mouth.

"Hush now." He said when she tried to speak. "It's alright now" he said as his hands traced the contour of her jaw. She blinked and then slowly settled her eyes upon the roof past his head, he brushed his fingers over her bare shoulders. She looked up again as a shiver ran through her.

"Why are you here?" she croaked.

"To care for you..." he replied as his thumbs traced circles n her shoulders. She seemed to want more s he elaborated. "Because I care for you." The soft words admited the deepest truth in his heart at that mment. She closed her eyes.

"You.." He leaned over at her soft whisper. "You don't know who I am..." He frowned at her words.

"My love," she flinched at the endearment which in turn caused his heart to beat more rapidly. "Igraine you speak in riddles." He told her gently. She shook her head, saying that she did not. "I-" he began. "I know all I need to know." She closed her eyes a moment.

Her blue eyes opened wide, pain shwing in their depths. "no you don't." She licked her dry lips. "You don't know abut me, what I've... The things I have done." He sighed.

"Igraine, I have done things that would make you weep to know. Hundreds of your countrymen's blood is on my hands." He paused as a fear he had never expressed surfaced. "Your brothers blood might even be on them." He said softly. She sighed.

"But everyone you have killed would have killed you had you not killed them." She looked earnestly at him with those haunted eyes. "Not all those I have killed would have killed me." He frowned. "As.. as dispenser of Justice in my village I was the... I was the judge and executioner of those who... those who transgressed our laws." She looked away her eyes staring at the wooden side of the wagon. Silently he looked down at her waiting for her to continue.

_

* * *

The leather clothes were for battle, the metal necklace and wristbands denoted her status. The sword on her lap was heavy as she repressed tears from her eyes, forcing herself to stay as calm and still as ice. The dais she was seated on was under a thundering sky, and her woad paint seemed to mark her as an evil spirit. Those around her were still and silent, many wore expressions that showed their pain and pity as a tall blonde warrior was brought in front of the teenage girl. She lifted her chin a little more as the tall man bowed slightly to her._

She stood slowly, the weight f the swrd in her hand grew by the moment.

"Drusais. You were brought before me three days ago covered in the blood," she paused as an invisible hand seemed to choke her. "Covered in the blood of your wife, Elai, your infant child, Drulain and the blood of Castor, a man of this village." She said the words with an icy tone, shoving away the tide of her emotions. The huge hands of the man were clasped before him, hands that just a few years ago had held her, had taught her the sword and bow. Hands she knew had brushed with affection through his wife's pale braids and had held his infant son with loving care.

"In your own defense you claimed that your wife had betrayed you with Castas and that Drulain was not of your blood." She paused. "That is irrelevant!" the shut caused a few to jump at the vehemance of her words. "Many have begged compassion for you because you were moved by jealousy, that your wife had in the past been unfaithful." She looked out ver those she now ruled. "There can be no excuse for murder." She went back to the chair and sat. An inaudible sigh escaped her lips.

"I now bring the full weight f our customs and law down upon you Drusais: have you anything to say?" the last was softly spoken. The huge man shook his head, his blue eyes clear and no sign of guilt was in the air.

"Then make your peace with the world and say your good-byes." His ancient mother was weeping nearby, her soft sobs a counterpoint to the mutterings of others as they discussed her strict decision.

"I am ready." His words held no hint of fear as they boomed in his deep bass voice. Igraine nodded.

"Take the children away!" she ordered as she started down the steps. Mothers rushed children away from the village square. The men formed a circle, closing the horse shoe shape they had been in. She held the sword in her hands as a strange rush ran through her. She lifted it as two men forced Drusais to his knees.

"May whatever gods you believe in have mercy on you." She whispered as she drew back the sword. It flashed in the air as it slit his throat. Blood gushed like a fountain from the arteries in his neck. Their red contents spraying on her body and face. Slowly Drusais toppled to his side, his mouth still moving but no sound issued.

His mothers broken sobs issued from nearby as she fell to her knees in grief.

* * *

His thumbs resumed their brushings of circles on her skin as she croaked to a halt in her tale. He looked down.

"I still know nothing more than I knew before Igraine." He told her with compassion. "You are strong and compassionate. He was the murderer, not you." The words fell on deaf ears he knew.

"I hope everytime that I kill it will be the last time, Lancelot. I long for a world where violence is no longer a necessity." She shook her head. "But I know that each time I sheath my sword I will use it again, and it haunts me that each one I kill has a mother, a father, brothers and sisters, perhaps even wives and children." She sighed. "it is for them I grieve..." she opened her eyes. "And I fear," she whispered "my ability to take life, I fear the way I can do it and that one day I may come to enjoy it." His fingers paused and he lifted them, she shivered as he lifted her upwards, until she sat in his lap. "I fear the darkness in my soul, Lancelot."

"Igraine...I have known men who love to kill, it does not make them a lesser person. And your abhorrence of violence I do not fully understand... Arthur would understand it better than I..." He brushed his lips over hers. "But you I care for, and it hurts me when you are hurt, your tears are mine my love." He brushed his lips across her feverish forehead. "And that you abhor murder does not diminish you in my eyes." He brushed his lips over hers again, he felt hers tremble beneath his own, tears stood bright in her eyes.

"Please, rest Igraine, you will need your strength." She nodded slightly, her head lying upon his chest. "And believe me when I say there are far darker souls than yours." He added in a gentle whisper as she slipped into sleep.

* * *


	7. What you know is not always the Truth

**Arthur, King of the Britons...

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A/N:** Okay I know alll this preparitory dtufff is boring but well, it's nesscessary. Pleas leave me a review after you've finished, Candy for reviewers!

* * *

_Chapter VI: What you think you know is not always the truth..._

* * *

Igraine opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling of the wagon. She took a deep breath and winced. 

"Oww" she said softly, pressing a hand to her chest, there was a deep ache in her chest. She sat up slowly, but her head was spinning. She paused and waited for the moment to pass. She glanced around and noticed a dark ebony dress with white and red ribbon embroidery on the neckline, cuffs and hem. The dress was soft and clean. She sat upwards and noted a basin of water and a cloth. Just as she began to move the cloth over the wagons entry was pulled aside. Fulcinia stepped inside with a kindly smile.

"You're awake!" the accented words were kindly. The woman knelt beside her. "Let me help." Gently the older woman used the soft cloth and water to wipe off any dirt on the young woman's body. Fresh bandages were put around her lower ribs and down on her hips, along with re-wrapping her left hand. Fulcinia then helped her do her soft golden hair. Soft grey ribbons were threaded through her hair, creating a grey and gold crown around Igraine's head. Igraine looked in the mirror and noted the darkness beneath her blue eyes.

"Turn around." Fulcinia brought out several pouches of condiments. Carefully Fulcinia applied powders and pastes to remove the signs of illness.

When Igraine looked once more in the small mirror she saw a different face looking back. Her lips and skin was more normal and her eyes seemed less dark and bloodshot. She looked up at Fulcinia wh had tears standing in her large eyes.

"Why?" she asked softly. Fulcinia smiled.

"When you go out when we get to the wall, there must be no sign of weakness, from you my dear." Igraine looked at the small dark woman.

"I killed your husband." Fulcinia nodded at the words.

"You must be strong." She turned away and gathered the bowl and condiments before leaving. Igraine paused before following her outside. It was mid afternoon. Igraine took a waterskin and drank her fill before setting it back down. In the distance she saw the wall as they lowered onto the plain beneath it.

She watched as they turned and ran along parallel to the great wall.

She slipped from the wagon and walked beside it, her legs were shaky, but they held as she walked. She knew that within days she would be fighting for her life, and her strength would not fully be recovered. She sighed.

"Why do you sigh so?" startled, she looked up at the Roman boy's face as his wagon pulled alongside.

"Why do the ducks fly south?" she asked. He frowned at the question. "I am afraid." She spoke the words softly, as though to say them louder might be unlucky. "Afraid for my people." He nodded in understanding.

"They say you are a great leader." He said. She looked up at him. "My mother says you are very brave, very important. She has given you her finest gown." He added. She sighed once more, her fingers traced the ribbons on the cuffs of the black dress. The boy was not a fool even if he was a little timid. Then she remembered his offer back at the frozen river.

"Bravery is not everything, Alecto." She said. "In Rome bravery will not help you, politics is a far more deadly game than battle." He nodded at the warning implied in her words.

"I do not want to go there." He said without reserve. She felt a pity for the boy, he was older than she had been when her brother was killed and she became chief of a village but he was still to young.

"Do not show fear, Alecto. If you do no matter who tries to protect you, you will fall." She said the words with experience. He nodded. "Remember Arthur's words. You must come to prominence in Rome. You can make a difference Alecto." He nodded, his dark eyes haunted in a way no one his age should be. She smiled at him and moved away.

She moved quickly away from the wagon and moved forwards down the line. Pausing occasionally to speak with those wh called her name. Many seemed to see her as a leader.

* * *

Lancelot looked backwards at the call of a name and turned Roshian, the great roan neighed as he trotted backwards. Igraine looked up and smiled as he pulled up alongside her. He leant down. 

"Igraine, care for a ride?" he asked, holding out his arm. She nodded after a moment and he lifted her up in front of him. She settled there with a guarded smile. He urged Roshian to a gallop. She was looking up at the wall, her eyes dark with some emotion he could not quite understand.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly as he reined the great horse in. She looked at him with a frown.

"I was wondering... Why did the Saxons invade above the wall, when they could have landed their ships below it." He frowned, the same thought had crossed his mind. "It seems to me a grave tactical error." He nodded.

"There was a fleet of Rman warships in the straits but I doubt that would have deterred the Saxons..." he replied thoughtfully. She shook her head. They rode on lost in thought as the sun shone a warmth upon the fields.

The great gate opened and as they passed under it she whispered something softly.

"What did you say?" he asked just as softly as the caravan continued on.

"It divides us." She said, turning to look at him. "The wall. It makes an 'us' and a 'them'." He turned back to look at the tall wall. "It creates a barrier, in our minds and in our hearts. To defeat the Saxons, the wall in our hearts and minds must be torn down." She smiled at him as he looked back at her. "We must become one with each other- I must become one with myself." She said her eyes looking into the distance. He frowned.

"I know." She said it softly, her eyes turning to the sky. "Finally I know." She looked back at him. "My father was a knight, from your blood I get my qualities in battle and leadership, but also from my mothers side." Her blue eyes were alight as though she was feverish. "She was a healer, a witch you would call her." She smiled wider. "The Romans have a saying, 'Divide and conquer, divide and rule.'" She nodded to herself "I know at last..." she added softly as she turned back to gaze ahead. He felt a strange pull at his heart as her hair streamed back from its bindings, a fearless light in her bright eyes. He knew that feeling, that gut wrenching heart stopping feeling, he was afraid for her. He swallowed his fears as they dismounted and the wagon's came into the courtyard.

"The gods be praised! Against all the armies of Satan could muster!" came the voice of the snakelike Bishop. Lancelot felt a fear in him as he watched Alecto step down from the wagon. The boy looked to where Igraine stood beside Lancelot. She smiled at the boy. He turned back and allowed the Bishop to embrace him. "Alecto! Look at you! You have thrived here!" he said as he stepped back from the boy.

"Bishop Germanus. Friend of my Father." Interrupted Arthur, his voice cold and bitter. The man turned and smiled in a sickening way.

* * *

Igraine knew disgust and fear for Alecto as the Roman in fine robes hugged him. She was surprised at Arthur's icy tones. He seemed angry beyond measure. 

"Ah. Arthur, of course." She heard distantly the man call for release papers. She saw Lucan make a dash.

"Lucan!" Guinevere called as a soldier made to stop the boy, the child was crying he gripped Gawain's hand, the blonde knight held the weeping boy, they seemed to get along well since Dagonet's death. Galahad drew a dagger and placed it at the mans neck. A sudden dark tension filled the air.

"Of course. Here, here are the release papers giving you free passage throughout the Roman empire." He said motioning to the papers as Arthur turned away. Lancelot strode forwards and grabbed the papers from the box. He gave one each to Galahad and Gawain. He gripped Bors.

"Bors." The man just stared at the Bishop with loathing. "Bors!" repeated Lancelot. The man took the two scrolls. "For Dagonet." Said Lancelot softly. Bors shook his head.

"He doesn't need this." He said, his words filled volatile emotions. "He's already free, you hear?" he cried. "He's already Free!" Bors threw down the papers and strode off, Lancelot followed after the knight, Gawain and Galahad retrieved the papers while Tristan took the box and they left. Igraine sighed at the harsh reminder of her failure just a few days before caused a dark cloud across the possibilities of her revelation f just a few moments earlier. She smiled at Fulcinia and hugging the older woman she thanked her. Fulcinia shook her head with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you. For everything." Said Alecto as Igraine withdrew from Fulcinia's embrace.

"No, Thank you." She lowered her tone as the Bishop leaned closer to hear. "You are our hope, Alecto. Do not fail us." She smiled and he nodded. "And never lose hope." She turned away.

"Who are you?" she did not pause. "Halt" Two soldiers made t stop her. She turned and drew herself tall.

"Who? Me?" she asked innocently. She smiled regally. "I am Morgana Lafaye, of the Loch." She said using the title Merlin had given her and the names her mother had given her. He frowned at her use of a name she knew he must have known if he had known Arthur's father. She turned back to the guards.

"Let her go!" commanded Alecto, his voice more manly than she had ever heard it. The guards waited for the Bishop's wave. Reluctantly they let her pass. She motioned for Guinevere and Lucan to go with her as she stepped away.

Quietly she began to speak in Celtic.

"Guinevere, you must got to Arthur, he will need you, he will need you heart and mind." Guinevere nodded.

"And you," she knelt in front of Lucan, "You will be going with Bors, and the other Knights." She smiled. "They will take to a place where you will be safe." She brushed at his dirty blonde hair. "I promise." She stood as a woman approached. The woman was shapely with thick red curls and an open pleasant face. Several children followed her and a babe was in the crook of one arm.

"Are you Vanora?" asked Igraine, as she placed an arm around Lucan's small shoulders.

"Yes." She smiled down at the little boy.

"This is Lucan." Said Guinevere. Vanora smiled at the boy.

"Come here me lad." The kindness that radiated from her drew the child like a magnet. Igraine released him as the motherly little woman insinuated him amongst and at a nod from Igraine the woman and her children where moving away with Lucan in the middle of the group. Igraine closed her eyes as Guinevere moved away, her thoughts straying to the man who was watching her from the distance. His dark eyes were boring into her. She turned and looked at the Bishop. There was an expression of shock and amazement on his face. He moved slowly from the shadows.

"You are aren't you?" he said almost rhetorically. She smiled slightly as she saw the truth in his eyes. He knew. He knew who she was, what she was and would become.

* * *

Arthur looked away from where the knights said goodbye to Dagonet. He knelt by the mud without a sword. 

"A mound without a sword." Said Guinevere, as though she had read his mind. She knelt beside him.

"My father's grave." He said softly. "It was his wish that if he died here he was to be buried with his knights." He said simply.

She was silent a moment. "I can see why you would think there is nothing here for you. But you're wrong." The words were soft, yet carried a thousand meanings. "That sword is of this place, the iron is from this earth, as is a part of you." Arthur looked away down below. The grass was green despite winters onslaught, within a few day that grass would be red with blood and the screams and mans of the dying would fill the air that at that moment was filled with the scent of flowers. He looked down and sighed. There at the foot of his fathers grave grew a small plant, its pale blue flowers carried a hint of purple. He plucked one of the unusual flowers and smiled. He had not seen them since he was a child.

He smiled for the first time in days. Guinevere stayed silent as he regarded the flower. A gentle breeze ruffled them and the knights behind them stayed still and silent for just a moment. "Love freed the sword..." he murmured into the silence.

* * *

Lancelot moved away from the place where all the knights had been buried, many of his friends had been interred there, their bodies taken far from their homes and then placed in foreign soil to rot. He made his way down the hill and towards the settlement, his thoughts on finding Igraine. He wondered about her 'revelation' that she had had, about becoming one. He laughed bitterly, He was as divided as she, he had made many oaths, one to his family, another to Arthur, and one to himself. He had sworn he would return, he had sworn t protect and he had sworn that this time he would not let go. 

He would not let Igraine go. Other women he had. Their had been two of them. One had died and the other had married a local man. This time he had promised would be different. He sensed that soon he would brake one or all of those vows and that was painful to a man who took oaths seriously.

He moved aimlessly but with purpose, he then saw her, she stood in the lee of a building, her face turned to the wall. He could see even at the distance that her chest was heaving. And then he saw whom she spoke to. His finery stood out in the dank street. Lancelot paused, his mind in turmoil. He crept closer; keeping out of her sight and hoping the Bishop would not see him.

The Bishop reached out a shaking hand to touch her cheek, she slapped the hand away. Lancelot stated forwards but the Bishop was already backing away, fleeing the words Igraine flung at him as Lancelot ran forwards, He touched Igraine's shoulder. She spun, startled and he saw the fear in her large eyes. For all the finery and face paint he could feel her pain and uncertainty.

"Igraine?" he asked softly. She licked her lips nervously.

"Yes?" she asked with an out of character timidity.

"I something wrong?' She mustered a smile and shook her head.

"No—Yes." She half laughed at herself and shook her head again. "Something I had hoped to avoid. But lies do not hold next to the burning truth, do they?" she asked. She shrugged as he raised an eyebrow.

"More riddles for you my dear." She reached a hand up and placed it on his cheek. "It's alright Lancelot, dearest one." She smiled and took his hand. "Come with me." And he followed her away.

* * *

Please Review, the more reviews the quicker the updates!


	8. A song of life amidst a symphony of deat...

**Arthur, King of the Britons.**

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A/N: Sighs I have finally finished this chapter... It was reallly difficult to write the huge battle, not to mention I still haven't decided exactly who will die... In fact I want a democratic vote...

Cause I can't decide!!!!

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_Chapter VIII: A song of life amidst a symphony of death

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_

Arthur watched the approaching flag with thoughtful eyes. He wondered for a few moments if it could be some sort of trap. He shook off the thought and slammed his great standard into the earth. Turning his great roan stallion churned the earth as he galloped down the hill.

* * *

Guinevere looked over at Igraine as they watched the great roan charger. The two women exchanged a glance at the magnificent sight the man made in his praetorian armor. Guinevere lowered her head to one side and looked down the line at her people. The to watched the man, their faces showing their great respect for him. She smiled just barely, for at that same moment Igraine spoke.

"Tonight, many of their wives and mothers, sisters and sons will weep at their loss." Guinevere sighed.

"But life goes on." She replied softly.

"Yes... Life goes on."

* * *

The great gates swung open, beyond them mist and smoke curled in a thick grey curtain. A neigh sounded and then the great horse appeared, the figure of a large muscular man upon his back.

The two moved out of the gate's shadow. The Roman rode the horse casually. One hand dangled at his side. He approached the Saxon leader without a hint of fear. The Saxon looked up as the Roman began to circle him.

"Well, well, Arthur, wherever I go on this wrenched island, I hear your name. Always half whispered, as if you were, God. But all I see is flesh, blood. No more God then the creature you're sitting on."

"What are your terms Saxon?" Asked Arthur hi tone cld and haughty

"The Romans have left you... Why are you still here?" He paused at the Roman's arrogant posture and cold eyes. "If you came to beg a settlement you should be on your knees." He said pointedly, his guttural tones harsh to the ear.

"I didn't come here to negotiate." Said Arthur calmly.

"Oh? Then why did you come?" asked the Saxon contemptuously.

"To mark your face so that I may seek you on the battle, and you should mark my face Saxon." He drew his sword, Excalibur flashed in the air. "For the next time you see it, it will be the last thing you see on this earth." And with that the man wheeled the great steed and left, disappearing into the grey fog beyond the wall once more.

The Saxon paused. "Finally. A man worth killing." His said before turning away. Suddenly he gave out a savage cry and beat his fists upon his chest.

* * *

Lancelot was brooding once more. Suddenly the horse beneath him whinnied and snorted, prancing and shuffling beneath him. Lancelot followed the others as their horses pranced away from the caravan.

"Shh." He told the horse, leaning close over the beautiful beast's neck. He rubbed and stroked the dark neck. He looked up to the other knights. The Saxon drums were growing louder in the distance.

He looked towards the other knights. Gawain and Galahad seemed a little sad but resigned. Bors had tears standing in his eyes. While Tristan smiled slightly, Lancelot returned the smile. There was no other option, no other way. He nodded and the others did the same. Tristan lifted his arm to look at his bird.

"Hey. You are free now." He waved his arm, releasing the hawk into the sky, He then turned away as they went to gather their weapons.

* * *

Horse hooves resounded as Roshian galloped up the hill, Lancelot's full battle armor shone in the sunlight, his horse head with its pennant snapped in the wind. He reined in the great horse beside Arthur's great grey charger. Arthur turned to look at his friend. Lancelot grinned rakishly as the other knights galloped up the hill behind them. As they stood together in the sunlight, the mist swirling around them as they smiled.

Arthur felt a great weight lift off him at the knights return, though the most selfish part of him wished them safe most f him was glad and proud of their decision. He grinned as over the wall in the distance the Saxons advanced.

He urged his horse forwards and turned him to face the other knights.

* * *

Igraine watched as through the smoke the knights raised the effigies to the sky, their cries carrying across the field as Arthur's sword glowed in the air. She closed her eyes in the face of blinding pain. He had broken her promise. She should have expected this, despite everything, despite any flaws he was a brave and selfless man... And after all would she want him to be any less than he was? Sighing in the face of truth she turned to look at Guinevere, the simple patterns of woad on her face highlighted her beauty, the night haired woman nodded. They both fitted arrows to their bows as a cry came across the plain beneath the knights hill.

A large group of Saxons had come into the ground beneath them. Guinevere turned to look up at the hill. Arthur raised his sword and motioned to Tristan. The knight raised his bow. Guinevere and the other woad turned their bows as Igraine lifted her own bow upwards. They adjusted and released two swift volleys into the Saxon ranks. And then they counted, they raised their bows and released another volley, below they saw through the smoke as the knights raced headlong through the ranks of Saxons. Once more they fired.

All too soon the field was still and silent. She saw a Saxon fleeing the battle, She raised her bow and with a cold precision aimed. He fell and stumbled the last few paces to the gate. She paused a moment and waited. Within moments the booming of the Saxons war march. She watched as the gates opened once more, for a moment she turned her head, high above Lancelot's steel covered head with the great horse hair crest turned to look at her. She drew her sword and raised it, in response Lancelot raised his bloody one. She smiled. Behind her the other Woads cried a chant, a strong breeze blew across the vale where the Saxons now milled. After a minute Guinevere raised her bow, an arrow with a rag soaked in oil upon it. She drew the bow back as a large group of Saxons crossed a gully filled with pitch.

The other Saxons raised their own bows, at a signal from Arthur their arrows were lit. They pulled back and burning rain flew through the air.

* * *

Merlin stepped upon the hill, his people followed him. The knights in front of him had started down the hill. He watched as his people flooded past him to stand with the knights while others brought the great machines into place, he watched as the balls of fire slammed into the front ranks of the enemy, but at that moment he cared not. The future of his people seemed a distant thing for he was lost in memory._The small boy had the marks of hard travel upon him, in his arms lay a small and sickly babe, with large unusual eyes. Merlin looked down on the child and realised the coloring was known to him. He looked up at the boy. A handsome lad he was, and the child in his arms was familiar in a way Merlin had never thought possible._

_"Igraine." He said the word softly, as though to speak louder was a sin. The youth looked up at him, his handsome features clouded._

_"What does that mean?" he asked, a note of fear in his voice._

_"It means," began Merlin as he ran a finger over the babe's cheek. "Sorrow... unending." The boy let out a choked laugh. _

_"More you should call her betrayal." The words seemed to echo through his mind, through his spirit.

* * *

_

He turned his head to see the distant figure raise her sword, she and Guinevere, warriors both. Then they were charging down the hillside, and the smoke that drifting over the field hid the golden hair from sight. He knew her parentage he knew the price the child of such a union would pay, he had always known... He turned his thoughts and eyes away. He could not help her this day.

Igraine rolled away from a downward stroke and rose up, her sword slashed through her opponent's neck. She turned as she heard Guinevere's shout, Guinevere had struck the ground, a huge black bearded Saxon stood over her, Igraine leapt Guinevere and blocked the huge man's sword stroke that would have taken the older woman's life. She spun, her hair glinting in the sunlight as she parried his return stroke. Guinevere crawled away as Igraine twirled her blade and dagger striking the Saxon's sword. Guinevere stood and grabbed and axe. She swung it into the face of another Saxon and paused.

She saw the Saxon leader from the lake kill two of her people and her rage boiled over. Leaping a Saxon body she grabbed a sword and engaged the man.

Lancelot took the blow and rolled from his horse. Hitting the ground he came up and slashed open a Saxon throat. He turned and slammed his other sword into another Saxon's chest pulling both swords out he danced backwards, his swords singing their deadly song. He turned and hacked through a Saxon standing over a Woad. The woad stood and gave him a nod. Lancelot returned the nod and turned to face another who approached him from behind.

* * *

Tristan sliced through his opponent, his sword dancing in a sudden beam of sunlight. He took a step forwards and a slight smile touched his features as he approached the blonde Saxon leader. They circled each other warily, then the blows came, fast and hard, they spun away from each other only to join with a ringing of metal again. Tristan knew that his first mistake would likely be his last with an opponent such as this. And then it happened. The Saxon's sword cut him and his sword went from his fingers.

He waited for an opportunity, the dagger from his breastplate seemed small in his hand. But the Saxon gave him back his sword. But he knew he was done for, he felt the pain in his limbs, then he was down again. He felt a jerk and knew the end had come... High above a hawk let out a cry...

* * *

Arthur turned to see Tristan fall. And felt a tremor run through him as time stood still a moment. Then he was slashing and cutting his way towards the barbarian who had taken his knights life, pain and anger warring inside him as warm blood was spat on his face as he opened an artery.

Lancelot felt the breeze even amidst the press of bodies on the battlefield.

He turned his head to see if he could spy his friend, and there he was, His praetorian armor glinting in the sun, his helmet lost. Then Lancelot was slashing and killing he turned again and saw two women with blue paint and blood on their skin battling together against their opponent's.

His feelings warred within him, and then as he glanced back towards the women he saw one of them stumble, her golden hair glinting even on the battlefield, his heart leapt even though he saw her rise up but a moment later. His mind was now made up.

He turned away and saw his faithful horse nearby. He smiled now and ran swiftly to the great roan horse. He returned one of his swords to it's scabbard as he raced across the field, Roshian cleared a path before him, and he used his sword while they ran and then they were arching through hot flames. And the body underneath him did not flinch once.

* * *

Igraine rolled away from a heavy downward blow from the black bearded Saxon, and came up next to Guinevere. They gave each other a glance and quick grin before turning back to their opponent's Igraine could feel the tiredness beginning to ebb into her limbs. She pulled a Dagger as she backed away from the huge man, carelessly she threw it at him and as he ducked she rammed her sword through his stomach. She ran forwards and leapt on the back of anther Saxon, her last dagger slicing into his neck.

Jumping away as he crumpled she grabbed a Saxon sword from the ground and swung at another Saxon, her only thoughts on surviving a few more hours.

* * *

Guinevere crawled backwards as the Saxon approached her, the slash on his forehead from Igraine's arrow lending him an even more sinister appearance as he prepared to kill her, and then as his blade descended a pair of crossed blades intercepted his blade with a loud clang. Swiftly she rolled away as her rescuer kicked the Saxon in the stomach. The two men exchanged a flurry of blows as Guinevere turned away and saw Igraine in a knot of Saxons. She was whirling and striking, but blood was trickling down her right arm, and Guinevere saw with horror that an arrow was ldged near her shoulder.

With a cry Guinevere lashed out at two of those nearest to Igraine. The other woman never even broke rhythm; she just killed another of the Saxons, her arms blurring and her eyes hard. Guinevere stepped close to her back, without a word the two began defending each other and themselves.

* * *

Arthur thrust and hacked, but the Saxon was good damn him. He was thrown around, his balance lost as a slash opened the armor and allowed the blood to flow from his back.

* * *

Lancelot threw the Saxon leader to the ground. He turned at the sound of a scream, he knew that voice. His face blanched as he looked across the field at the screaming woman, her sword ringing out as she fought to stay on her feet. Fear rise up inside her.

He began to run when suddenly something hit him in the shoulder, his eyes fastened on the figure of the blonde Saxon leering from where he held the spent Crossbow. Lancelot didn't remember drawing back his arm but he felt the sword fly from his fingers. Then he was falling, his feet no longer supporting him, as he crumpled.

* * *

Igraine saw the sword coming but was just too slow, she screamed as pain ripped through her, she slashed out with her sword, catching the one who'd wounded her in the side. Her eyes were wild and she seemed almost possessed as she swung her sword and hit another of the Saxons hard. The sword stuck between his ribs and so she punched the next Saxon who came at her. His nose crumpled and she grabbed his sword from his hands and slammed it into his stomach before kicking him off it. She spun away as she realised two Wad had attacked her other opponent's. She paused at the sight that she beheld. He was n his knees, his dark eyes filled with surprise and confusion.

She felt a terrible fear rising up in her as stumbled away from Guinevere, she tripped on a body and began to crawl. He fell down onto his side, his eyes were looking at her. He seemed to try to ask a question as she pulled closer. She spat blood from her mouth, a stray thought telling her she should not have blood in her mouth.

She leaned over him as he shifted onto his back. Silently she touched the arrow, blood pulsed weakly around it...

She simply lay next to him as a terrible certainty filled her. He pulled her close to his side with a tenderness that made her sob.

"Igraine I..." his words were slurred with pain.

"I'm here..." she murmured, her heart breaking into tiny pieces as she saw the blood flecking his lips.

"I love you." A single tear fell from her eye as she laid her head next to his.

* * *

Guinevere turned at a cry from Igraine and saw her crawling over the blood soaked earth towards a figure in metal armor, he fell onto his back and then they lay next to each other. Guinevere felt tears in her eyes as she fought another Saxon, desperate to reach Igraine's side.

Arthur fell to his knees. Suddenly in his mind's eye he saw his father. The hair of sandy blonde shining in the sunlight as he carried his son on his shoulders. His father picking pale blue flowers, his mother weeping when his father left on a mission, her tears through the days he was away, her screams as she died. His fingers tightened on his sword. He slammed it backwards. He felt rather than saw or heard the Saxon falling. He turned and gripped the man's hair. The man said something, but in that moment he cared not, for memories had taken him.

_"Arthur, I would die for you." She had come to him, slender and small in the gloom of the Hall of the Round Table, like a shade Merlin had followed her, blue tattoo's on one side of his face giving him even more the appearance of one of the dead. He had sat open mouthed as the two figures one old and bent as he held his spear, on small and slender, young but bent under pain and responsibility had told him things he refused to believe._

_They were true._

_

* * *

_

Now hw to finish it. Tell me how you want it to end...


	9. Silence Reigns

Arthur, King of the Britons.

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A/N:

Concerning the ending of my story.

Hi all my wonderful readers! I have decided to end this story like this. I will upload the three different endings I have written and you can decide which to read... Or you could read all three. I will upload the three endings soon, until then please enjoy this chapter. Sorry it's so short.

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Chapter IX: Silence reigns

Amidst the smoke and the cries of the dying and dead Arthur paused. Silence was descending, they had won, the fires were being doused, the battle was ending, around him woad and Saxon lay amongst each other, contorted in death. Arthur turned his heart crying out to see Guinevere. He looked across the smoking pits of tar and saw Guinevere, she was slowly walking, he saw light gleam near her feet as she knelt.

He found himself running as the smoke shifted to hide her from view. He leapt the small ravine mindless of the dead and dying around his feet. He stopped as Guinevere and those at her feet came into view. Two figures in each other's embrace. He slammed Excalibur into the ground as he knelt beside them. Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes closed. A tear lay still on Igraine's blue stained cheek. He saw the blood pulsing weakly over the wound on her side. And at the same moment noticed the bolt high on Lancelot's left shoulder.

"It was supposed to be me!" he cried as they slipped away from the living. "Not this!" he cried aloud as his knights gathered by their fallen comrade. "Never this..." he looked up at them, tears filling his green eyes. "My brave knights, I have failed you. I neither took you off this island, nor shared your fate..."

A small blood stained hand inched to his and gripped him. He looked down and saw Igraine's hand in his. She was alive! He looked up and saw her pain filled eyes. She was looking past him.

"Do not fail me Merlin..." her whisper was in the language of the Britons. Arthur squeezed her hand, but it fled his touch to settle on Lancelot's face. She whispered something to the dying knight. Arthur wept as she returned her eyes to his pale face, he was loosing her when he had only just found her...

"Morgana..." He leant over her to place a kiss on her brow. And in that moment he was unsure whom he weeping for, her or Lancelot or Tristan... Or all three, but weeping he was, his hand brushing through mingled curls of gold and black as a prayer lifted skyward.

* * *

Merlin heard the whisper across the field. The druid hung his head as he began across the fields. He could feel the threads of life fleeing his adopted daughter's body and next to her the knight was nearly gone beyond the veil of death and none returned once the passed into the realms of the dead. He saw the joined figures as woad surrounded them, he knew their markings, the curving symbols of his daughter's warriors surrounded the dying knight and his woad lady.

Merlin watched the figures on either side of Igraine and her knight. Guinevere and Arthur, Briton and Foreigner tied by love and by blood to the land upon which they knelt. He sighed as he walked down the hills and up the other side of a small valley, the earth was soaked with the blood of Briton and Saxon and one lay dead next too the other. But amongst all the death there was hope as silence fell.

* * *

Please leave me some reviews! 


	10. Whispers of joy Happy ending

Arthur, King of the Britons.

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A/N: This is the happy ending!

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Chapter X: Whispers of joy.

* * *

Arthur brushed his fingers over the pale skin. Sweat beaded Igraine's forehead as the fever burned her wounded body. He shook his head. With the deep wound to her side she should not still be alive but the Woad's had carried her and Lancelot from the field and Merlin had sat with them for many hours and when Arthur had finally been allowed in he had fund her just as she was now. Just barely clinging to life, Lancelot was better then Igraine, the arrow had missed his vital organ's and had looked worse than it was. As if thinking of him had called him back from the abyss, Lancelot stirred. He had so often during the last few days, calling again and again for Igraine before settling back into the darkness of the unconscious.

Arthur turned to him and watched as Lancelot thrashed and muttered darkly. Arthur stood and moved to his friend as alarm ran through him. He watched for a moment before carefully restraining his oldest friend. If Lancelot wasn't careful he would pull the stitches that had closed his weeping wounds. Arthur waited until his friend ceased his moving before releasing him, still Lancelot seemed half awake, suddenly his dark eyes opened, blearily they focused on Arthur.

A groan fell from the stiff pale lips. "Ahhh, not again." Arthur felt a smile curved his lips.

"That's what I thought when we found you had lived through whatever the Woads did to you." He joked to his friend. Lancelot frowned, a sigh fell from his lips as something faded from his eyes.

"Then it was a dream..." he whispered, pain evident in the way tears gathered in the wounded knights eyes.

"What was friend?" asked Arthur softly as Lancelot slipped back towards sleep.

"She was..." Arthur blinked. And then laughter broke free of him in great peals. Lancelot opened his eyes and glared as well as he could in his condition. Arthur forced himself to stop laughing and leant close to his friend's ear.

"If you mean Igraine, then I am sorry, but she is real." He pulled back as Lancelot's eyes widened. He stepped aside so Lancelot could see the figure lying on the opposite pallet.

"Is she..." he began, his face even paler than it had been. Arthur nodded.

"They tell me she'll live, though how I know not, she should be dead, and you by all reason should be far worse if not dead, I was sure that arrow had pierced your lungs but they say not." Lancelot frowned.

"I remember... I, I was shot, I remember not being able to breathe, I remember coughing blood. I remember Igraine coming to me on the field." Lancelot frowned. "I was dying." Arthur looked away, his own certainty still had not bee dispelled. "I was dying Arthur! I knew it, and she too, she was mortally wounded..." Arthur nodded.

In a soft voice he whispered. "I know... And I thank god for every moment you still breathe. Every single moment." He squeezed his friends shoulder as tears fell from his eyes.

"But how?" asked Lancelot, his voice faint.

"I care not friend, if you and she are still alive... I care not!" he said the last with the air f one who wished he did not know what he was saying. Lancelot nodded weakly. Arthur waited with his friend until once more he was asleep. Then wiping at his face he turned towards Igraine. He gasped at the sight of her sitting upright, her blue eyes shadowed as she regarded him.

"Do not weep brother. All is well." He let out a cry as he stumbled into her outstretched arms.

"Do not weep Arthur." She repeated softly.

"I thought that just as I understood who you were you would leave me." She shook her head.

"I'll never leave you brother." She whispered into his soft curls. He pulled back and looked down at her.

"And I'll never leave you, Morgana." She smiled. "Do not name me so Arthur. _Gana _means betrayal. That was the curse my father named me with that all would know my mother had betrayed him with your father." He placed his hand on her cheek.

"And what does Igraine mean?" he asked softly.

"Sorrow." She said with a gentle smile.

"That is better?" he asked through soft chuckle's.

"By far when spoken with love." She smiled and he was struck by just how strong she was, how beautiful, how precious to him. Gently he released her.

"Sleep then Igraine, for I fear you will tire easily, and I suspect Lancelot will wake shortly, and judging by his love of you will want to talk to you." She nodded and lay back a smile curving her lips with happiness. Within moments she was sleeping, he stayed, watching over him until Guinevere came to fetch him for dinner.

* * *

Lancelot slipped from his pallet and in the darkness he made his way to the pallet almost blind, he cursed as his shoulder ached, and coughs racked him. A gasp echoed through his coughs as Igraine started upright.

"Lancelot?" she asked. His heart soared, within moments they were holding each other as though they feared the other was not real.

"I love you." He whispered. She pulled back and tenderly he kissed her.

"I love you." She whispered and happiness blossomed in his heart, the seeds she had planted there came to full bloom, banishing his darkness forever.

And outside even the wind seemed to whisper their happiness to the world. And Arthur lying with Guinevere somehow knew that tomorrow the world would be a little bit better, a little brighter... Nearby Lancelot lay beside Igraine in a darkness filled with happiness...

The End.... Or not?


	11. Tell me the name of the stars Sad Ending

Arthur, King of the Britons

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A/N: My personal fav... Probably not yours...

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Chapter X: Tell me the names of the Stars up in the Sky

* * *

Lancelot started as he watched the horse whinny and rear, the great stallion was familiar, he knew that great animal. His mouth opened in surprise as he saw another figure approaching him. He must be dreaming, for there was Tristan. The man's face still marked by tatoos though an un-characteristic grin split the man's face.

"Greetings brother!" he called softly but joyfully as he passed Lancelot, Lancelot turned to look after him and found him gone into the darkness of night that had swiftly descended around him. Above him the stars were twinkling brightly. He breathed deep the air, and fund it smelt not of blood and death but rather sweet incense and the smell of flowers. He looked down, faint surprise touched him as he saw the soft clothing he wore. Black tunic and trousers and bare feet on green grass. He saw another pair of feet and slowly he cast his eyes up the slender body clad in white. Her golden hair was flying free. He knew her, but he didn't. Last he had seen her blue symbols had been painted on her skin... The battle! In a rush he felt it all come back. He gripped his shoulder. There was no wound. A small hand was laid over his. He looked up to see tears standing in Igraine's eyes.

"Tell me," she said softly. "Do you believe in the hereafter?" she asked. He shook his head and she smiled despite the tears that coursed her cheeks. She stepped closer her hands taking his face in her own.

"Neither do I." And with that she kissed him. Suddenly afraid that she would disappear as Tristan had he crushed her to him and returned her kiss, the bitter taste of tears was joined in the kiss, and he knew they were his own as well as hers. His hands brushed her neck. He realised no pulse was to be found there and with a cry he let her go.

"Tell me." She began again. "What are the names of the stars?" she asked and he looked up, his eyes caught by a shaped cluster. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of his mother's countenance gazing down at him. He looked back down at Igraine. "We will join them soon my love." She whispered wiping the tears from his face.

"But not right now." He replied as he kissed her again.

Arthur looked up at the night sky, his eyes lingering over a falling star, bright it was. He wished bitterly he could believe in heaven and the next world, for he wanted to believe that somewhere Igraine and Lancelot were together. He paused as a soft scent came to him on the breeze, the smell of small blue wildflowers. His eyes widened as distantly he thought he heard Lancelot's voice.

"Goodbye." He closed his eyes at the imagined feel of Igraine's soft kiss to his cheek. He smiled as a tear fell down his cheek.

"Thank you, oh merciful god." And never before had he offered such a heartfelt prayer. And when the next morn he visited their grave he found it covered by a strange plant, black leaves nestled around bright blue flowers grew entwined around Lancelot's twin swords.

Another end...


End file.
